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Illustrated Magazine 

For Young Folks 



Part II., May, 1881, to October, 1881. 


Copyright, 1881, by The Century Co. 

Press of Francis Hart & Co. 

Library, Univ. ef 
North Carolina 




Six Months — May, 1881, to October, 1881. 



A Boy ON THE Place. (Illustrated by H. McVickar) Helene J. Hicks 780 

Abraham Lincoln's Speech at Gettysburg. Copy in fac-simile 886 

A Brown-Study. Poem. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 843 

Adventures OF Cocquelicot. The (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Susan Fenimore Cooper 942 

Agassiz Association. The (Illustrated) 572, 654, 734, 814, 892, 972 

Alice in Wonderland. Verses. (Illustrated) Mary Mapes Dodge 875 

"A Little Old Woman of Dorking." Jingle. (Illustrated) Annie Huntington 675 

Ambitious Colt. The Picture, drawn by Frank Bellew 870 

Angora Cat. The True Adventures of an (Illustrated) Anna T. Randall-Diehl .... 749 

An Introduction. Picture. Drawn by Addie Ledyard 660 

Aquarium. How to Stock and Keep a Fresh-water (Illustrated by the Author) .Daniel C. Beard 696 

Aramantha Mehitabel Brown. Verses. (Illustrated) Joel Stacy 822 

Art and Artists. Stories of (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement 554 

676, 947 

A. Steeles. The (Illustrated by V. Nehlig) Sarah J. Prichard 577 

Babel. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Rosa Graham 512 

Bad Bird. The Story of a (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) David D. Lloyd 665 

Bob's Question. Picture. Drawn by Winslow Homer 664 

Bonny Blue Bowl. The Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 843 

Boomeo Boy. The (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Wm. W. Newton 846 

Bottomless Black Pond. The (Illustrated by W. L. Sheppard) John Lezvees 502 

Boy on the Place. A (Illustrated by H. McVickar) Helene J. Hicks 780 

Boy who Played Truant. The (Illustrated by Alfred Brennan) Alice Williams Brotherton. . 956 

Brown-Study. A Poem. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Mary Mapes Dodge ........ 737 

Builders by the Sea. Verses. (Illustrated by C. A. Northam) W. T. Peters 779 

Butterflies. Poem Susan Hartley Swett 606 

Camps. Game. Adapted by G. B. Bartlett 747 

" CANDY IS NOT GOOD FOR CHILDREN." Picture. Drawn by .Addie Ledyard 596 

Captain 9arah Bates. (Illustrated by Julian O. Davidson and H. P. Share) . Charles Barnard 670 

Castle OF Bim. The (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Frank R. Stockton 899 

Catapult Snake. The (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) F. Blake Crofton 723 

Cathie's Story Anna Boynton Averill 770 

Cham. Poem. (Illustrated by Alfred Brennan) Eva L. Ogden 766, 813 

Chapter on Soap-Bubbles. A (Illustrated by the Author) Daniel C. Beard 524 

Children's Artist. The (Illustrated) J. L 607 

Crow's Nest. The Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 936 

Curious Trap. A (Illustrated by James C. Beard) C. F. Holder 857 

" Cut Behind ! " Picture. Drawn by C. Weaver 718 

Dame Toad. Verses. (Illustrated by H. L. Stephens) Fleta Forrester 807 

Dandelion. The Verses Mary N. Prescotl 567 

Day Under-ground. A (Illustrated) David Ker 663 

$ Decorative. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) 687 

Dengremont. Eugenio Mauricio (With portrait) Mrs. John P. Morgan 720 

3 Dog Lost ! Verses. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) S. K. Bourne 719 

(i Dora and her Kitten. Picture. Drawn by Addie Ledyard 523 

50 Dorothy's Ride. (Illustrated by V. Nehlig) Mrs. C. E. Cheney 848 

— Dragon-fly's Benefit. The Verses. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Helen K. Spofford 844 



Ducky Daddles. (Illustrated by H. L. Stephens) Helen F. More 858 

Elf and the Spider. The Poem. (Illustrated by Mrs. M. Richardson) . . .Mary Mapcs Dodge 753 

Enchantment. Verses. (Illustrated) Margaret Vandegrift 589 

Eugenio Mauricio Dengremont. (Illustrated) Mrs. John P. Morgan 720 

Fairies. Poem ... Hannah R. Hudson 725 

Flat-boating for Boys. (Illustrated by the Author) Daniel C. Beard 773 

Fly-wheel. Under a (Illustrated by V. Nehlig) Henry Clemens Pearson .... 744 

Foundling. A Strange (Illustrated by the Author) Frank Bellezo 784 

Fountain in the Park. The Picture. Drawn by R. F. Runner 606 

Fourth of July at Tom Elliott's House. Verses Sarah J. Burke 660 

Fourth of July Night. Picture. Drawn by 4ddie Ledyard 710 

French Piece for Translation. (Illustrated by " Sphinx ") F. M. E 704 

Frog's Tea-party. The Verses. (Illustrated by H. McVickar) 616 

From Sandy Hook to the Light-ship. (Illustrated by Granville Perkins ).John V. Sears 738 

Giant Picture-Book. The Tableaux-vivants G. B. Bartlett 645 

Good Little Girl and the Cold Little Boy. The Jingles. (Illustrated).. 4. A". C 850 

Great-grandmother. My (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) Emily Huntington Miller. . . 507 

Grindstone. On a (Illustrated by V. Nehlig) Henry Clemens Pearson 519 

Gulf-stream. Waifs from the (Illustrated) Fred. A. Ober 549 

Head-dresses of Animals. (Illustrated by the Author) Sphinx 566 

How Bobby's Velocipede Ran Away H. W. Blake 657 

How Miss Jenkins " Got Out of It " Mary C. Bartlett 751 

How Peggy and Johnny Illustrated a Tableau-vivant. (Illustrated) 861 

How Polly went to the May-Party Mary Bradley 546 

How Shocking! Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Mary Mapes Dodge 585 

How to be Taken Care of Susan Anna Brown 941 

How to Make a Net without a Needle. (Illustrated by the Author). . . .Henry W. Troy 726 

How to Make Dolls of Corn-husks and Flowers. (Illustrated) 828 

How Tom Wallen Went Aboard. (Illustrated by Rufus F. Zogbaum). . . .Frank R. Stockton 823 

How to Stock and Keep a Fresh-water Aquarium. (Illustrated) Daniel C. Beard 696 

How we Belled the Rat, and what Came of It. (Illustrated by}*-, w Chamtm-v 7Q -1 

J. Wells Champney) ) 

Hyrax. Master (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Henrietta H. Holdich 873 

In Nature's Wonderland. (Illustrated by Hermann Faber) Felix L. Oswald 538 

621, 712, 786, 853, 926 

Introduction. An Picture drawn by Addie Ledyard 660 

Italian Fisher-boy Mending his Nets. An Picture. Drawn by E. M. S. Scannett 645 

" I wondered what made Robin sad." Poem George Newell Lovejoy 523 

Jingles 501, 545, 675, 746, 850, 909, 924 

John. Verses S. M. Chatfield 526 

June Day. A Poem James Russell Lowell 634 

King and the Clown. The Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox 552 

Kite, and What hung therefrom. The Tail of a Sophie Swett 932 

Knitting Song. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 960 

Lazy F'ARM-BOY. The (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) Mrs. Annie Fields 920 

Leaves at Play. The Poem. (Illustrated) D. C. Hasbrouck 931 

Lincoln's Speech at Gettysburg. (In fac-simile) Abraham Lincoln 886 

LITTLE Assunta. Poem. (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) Celia Tkaxter 897 

Little Dora's Soliloquy. Verses Bonnie Doon 860 

Little Lass who Wore a Shaker Bonnet. Jingle. (Illustrated) Margaret Johnson 909 

Little Maid Margery. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 7S5 

Little Miss Muffet and her Spider Sophie Swett 817 

Little Rob and his Letter-blocks. Picture, drawn by -S\ G. McCutcheon 725 

Living Lanterns. (Illustrated by James C Beard) C. F. Holder 910 

Lost Stopper. The (Illustrated) Paul Fort 582 

Major's Big-talk Stories. The (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) F. Blake Crofton 722 

Marchand de Coco. Le (Illustrated by Sphinx) F. M. E 704 



Mark, the DWARF. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) M. D. Birncy 764 

Mary Jane. Verses. (Illustrated by Mary Wyman Wallace) Margaret Vandegrift 852 

Mary, Queen of Scots. Part II Mrs. Oliphant 514 

MASTER Hyrax. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Henrietta H. Holdich 873 

Mastiff and his Master. The (Illustration by Gustave Dor£) Susan Coolidge 586 

May-party. How Polly Went to the Mary Bradley 546 

May. The Shining Days of Poem Lucy M. Blinn . 534 

Milkweed Playthings. (Illustrated) Emma M. Davis 743 

Misunderstanding. A (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) F. Blake Crofton 722 

Molly Mogg and Lucy Lee. Verses. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Mrs. E. T. Corbett 711 

Month of Roses. The Picture 633 

My Aunt's Squirrels Elizabeth Stoddard 686 

My Great-Grandmother. (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) Emily Huntington Miller. . . 507 

Narcissus. The Story of (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) Anna M. Pratt 924 

Net without a Needle. To Make a (Illustrated by the Author) Henry W. Troy 726 

Not Invited. Picture, drawn by Frederick Dielman 959 

" Oh, Mamma! Kitty 's awfully fond of Butter ! " Picture, drawn by. . .Addie Ledyard 523 

Old Woman of Dorking. A Little Jingle. (Illustrated) Annie Huntington 675 

On a Grindstone. (Illustrated by V. Nehlig) Henry Clemens Pearson 519 

Ostrich-farming. (Illustrated) Ernest Ingersoll 591 

Owl and the Spider. The Verses. (Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill). . . .Frank H. Stauffer 792 

Peacock. The Prince of the Birds. (Illustrated) . .Ernest Ingersoll 535 

Pease- Porridge Cold. (Illustrated by W. T. Smedley) Sophie Swett 608 

Perpetual-Motion James. (Illustrated by Frank Beard) John Trcavbridge 861 

Phaeton Rogers. (Illustrated by W. Taber) Rossiter Johnson 526 

596, 688, 754, 834, 913 

Pippo's Ransom. (Illustrated by E. M. S. Scannell) Florence Scannell 498 

PLEASANT CHILD. A Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Isabel Francis Bellows 946 

Prince of the Birds. The (Illustrated) Ernest Ingersoll 535 

Proud Prince Cham. Poem. (Illustrated by Alfred Brennan) Eva L. Ogden 766, 813 

Quiet Time for All Concerned. A Picture, drawn by J. Wells Cliampney 615 

Race and the Rescue. The (Illustrated by W. T. Smedley) Charles Barnard 872 

Rat's Happy Dream. The Picture. Drawn by Palmer Cox 534 

Richter. Ludwig (With portrait) J. L 607 

" Rock-A-BYE, Baby! " Poem. ( Illustrated by Alfred Brennan) M. E. Wilkins 668 

Royal Stag. The (Illustrated) Olive Thome Miller 510 

Russian Harvest Scene. A Picture 748 

Sad Little Lass. The Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 833 

St. Francis of Assisi Ella F. Mosby 851 

St. Nicholas Treasure-box of Literature. The 334, 796, 864 

A June Day James Russell Lowell 634 

President Lincoln's Speech at Gettysburg Abraham Lincoln 635, 886 

The Blue and the Gray F. M. Finch 635 

The Three Fishers Charles Kingsley 796 

The Sea. (Illustrated) Barry Cornwall 796 

Golden-Tressed Adelaide Barry Cornwall 797 

A Farewell Charles Kingsley 797 

Herve Riel. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Robert Browning 864 

The Cry of the Children Elizabeth Barrett Brmuning 867 

Saltillo Boys. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) William O. Stoddard 559 

636, 705, 798, 876, 961 

Sandy Hook to the Light-ship. From (Illustrated by Granville Perkins). John V. Sears 738 

Shining Days of May. The Poem Lucy M. Blinn 534 

Sister Months. The Poem Lucy Larcom 497 

Slumber Song. Poem Celia Thaxter 749 

Soap-bubbles. A Chapter on (Illustrated by the Author) Daniel C. Beard 524 

Someday. Verses Nora Perry 506 



Song of the Corn. The Poem. (Illustrated by Roger Riordan) Grace R. Thomas 871 

Song of the Fairies. The Poem. (Illustrated) Robert Riclutrdson 827 

Squirrels. My Aunt's Elizabeth Stoddard 686 

Star-spangled Banner. The (Illustrated by J. E. Kelly) 727 ■ 

Stories of Art and Artists. (Illustrated) C. E. Clement. . . . 554, 676, 947 

STORY OF a Bad Bird. The (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) David D. Lloyd 665 

Story of Narcissus. The (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) Anna M. Pratt 924 

Story of the Three Sons. The Elizabeth Cutnings 831 

Strange Foundling. A (Illustrated by the Author) Frank Bellew 784 

" Strawberries ! Ripe Strawberries ! " Verses Bessie Hill 632 

Tail of a Kite, and what hung therefrom. The Sophie Swctt 932 

Tessa, the Little Orange-girl. (Illustrated by E. M. S. Scannell) Mrs. Fanny Barrow 869 

"There was an old Woman who lived by the Sea." Jingle. (Illustrated) 746 

"There was a Small Servant called Kate." Jingle. (Illustrated) R. H. Midler 545 

Timid Dugong. The Verses. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Robert S. Talcotl 932 

Too Hot to be a Temptation. Picture 519 

Trap. A Curious ( Illustrated by James C. Beard) C. F. Holder 857 

Trapper Joe Mary Mapes Dodge 921 

Tuneful Old Woman. The Jingle. (Illustrated) E. L. Sylvester 746 

Under a Fly-wheel. (Illustrated by V. Nehlig) Henry Clemens Pearson .... 744 

Under-ground. A Day (Illustrated) David Ker 663 

Up George H. Hebard 661 

" Up the Road and Down the Road." Jingle. (Illustrated) Margaret Johnson 924 

Velocipede Ran Away. How Bobby's H. IV. Blake 657 

Was Kitty Cured ? (Illustrated by H. McVickar) Mary Graham 629 

What " St. Nicholas " Did Mrs. E. J. Partridge 957 

What the Birds Say. Poem. (Illustrated) Caroline A. Mason 582 

" Who are you ? " Picture. Drawn by HP. Share 703 

Ye Joyful Owl. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) J. G. Francis 501 

Jack-in-the-Pulpit (Illustrated). 

"April Showers bring May Flowers " — Poor Fritz — Buttonmold Mound — The Cat-birds are Coming — Bird 
Mimicry — A Little Soldier-girl — Deep-sea Wonders (Illustrated), 570 ; The Boys' and Girls' Own Month — A 
Cataract that Rushes Up the River — Christmas at Midsummer — Where "Cat " and " Puss " Came from — Jack 
Asks Some Questions — Jack's Prize Bird, 650; Jack's Say — Two Brave Little Girls — The Toes of Cats — A 
Hen-gossip and Other Hens — St. Cuthbert's Beads — Wonderful Glass-mending — How Some Swallows Treated 
a Lie-abed — A Suspension-bridge of Ants — A Queer Foster-mother (Illustrated), 730; "Tread Lightly" — The 
Crippling Brook — Do You Believe it? — A Singing Mouse — Dolly's Omelet — Weather Wisdom — Chinese 
Skill in Metal-work — Spiders as Servants — Living Pitchers (Illustrated) — A Motherly Rooster, 810; Coming 
Back to School — Movement-songs — A Different View Concerning Ants — Our Children's Eyes — A Fish that 
is its Own Market-basket (Illustrated) — Horses Wearing Spectacles, S90 ; Sumac-and- Maple Month — Shadow- 
tails — On the Tree-path — A Queer Tongue — Hickory-nuts and Hickory-nuts — The Lizard's Gloves — The 
Nut-hatch — A Submarine " Fire-fly " (Illustrated), 970. 

For Very Little Folk (Illustrated). 

Little Totote ; Eddy's Balloon, 568 — Kate and Joe, 648 — The Five Cats, 728 — Stephen and the Wild Bird. 
808 — Carlo, Jane, and Me, 888 — Roy's Visit; Ponto's Visit, 968. 

The Letter-box (Illustrated) 572, 652, 732, 812, S92, 972 

The Riddle-box (Illustrated) 575, 655, 735, 815, 895, 975 

Frontispieces. — On the Way to Jotunheim, facing title-page of volume — Just Before the Summer, facing 
page 497 — "Mustering All his Strength, Andy Plunged into the Flood," 577 — The Star-spangled Banner, 
657 — A Brown-study, 737 — Heart's Ease, 817. 



Vol. VIII. 

MAY, 1 88 i . 

No. 7. 

(Copyright, 1881, by Scribner & Co.] 


By Lucy Larcom. 

When April steps aside for May, 

Like diamonds all the rain-drops glisten ; 

Fresh violets open every day ; 

To some new bird each hour we listen. 

Nor does May claim the whole of spring ; 

She leaves to April blossoms tender, 
That closely to the warm turf cling, 

Or swing from tree-boughs, high and slender. 

The children with the streamlets sing, 
When April stops at last her weeping ; 

And everj' happy growing thing 

Laughs like a babe just roused from sleeping 

And May-flowers bloom before May comes 
To cheer, a little, April's sadness ; 

The peach-bud glows, the wild bee hums, 
And wind-flowers wave in graceful gladness. 

Yet April waters, year by year, 

For laggard May her thirsty flowers ; 

And May, in gold of sunbeams clear, 
Pays April for her silvery showers. 

They are two sisters, side by side 
Sharing the changes of the weather, 

Playing at pretty seek-and-hide — 
So far apart, so close together ! 

All flowers of spring are not May's own ; 

The crocus can not often kiss her ; 
The snow-drop, ere she comes, has flown ; 

The earliest violets always miss her. 

April and May one moment meet, — 

But farewell sighs their greetings smother ; 

And breezes tell, and birds repeat 
How May and April love each other. 

VOL. VIII.— 32. 




By Florence Scannell. 

"Now, SIT still, Nina mia, and turn your head 
a little more this way, so — that will do." 

" But, Pippo, I want to see you draw." 

" Impossible, little one ; you shall see it directly. 
Ah! if only I had one of Padre Stefano's nice, clean, 
white sheets of paper, it would be as good as the 
wall of the stable, eh, Nina! " 

"But wont Father be angry when he sees the 
great black cow you have drawn on the stable-wall, 
Pippo ? I expected to see her turn her head and 
look at me when I went in. And then Mother's 
face on the plate on which you had your sweet- 
meats ! I have not washed it off yet. " 

The speaker was a dark-haired little girl, with a 
brown face, and large dark eyes, which she fixed 
in tender admiration on the young artist, a boy 
of about ten years, with thick, fair hair, and a 
bright, intelligent countenance, who lay stretched 
on the grass, and drew, on a carefully chosen white 
stone, with a piece of burnt stick, the portrait of his 
pet sister as she sat before him. 

The sun was sinking behind the mountains, the 
great dome of the Cathedral of Florence was begin- 
ning to look dark against the clear blue sky, and 
the children were thinking of driving the sheep they 
had been sent out to watch toward the little farm 
where they lived, when dash ! — rush ! — into their 
peaceful little retreat burst a crowd of wild, dark- 
looking men, with fierce black eyes, and rough 
beards and hair. The leader called out : 

" Ha, excellent ! Some fine fat sheep, and only 
two small children to guard them. Don't let them 
run off and give the alarm, now, Giacomo. " 

Little Nina's bright color faded from her cheeks, 
and her eyes dilated with terror, as she flung her 
spindle to the ground and flew to her brother, hid- 
ing her face in his sheep-skin jacket, while he, tears 
springing to his eyes, implored the brigands (for 
such they were) to take pity on them, and leave 
their sheep. 

"Father will beat us both, and Mother will cry, 
oh, so much ! Please, good brigands " 

" Hold your tongue, you little fool, or I will give 
you a worse beating than ever you had before," said 
Giacomo, who, in obedience to the order of his 
captain, held the two poor children firmly with his 
strong hands. 

"Now, then, let us be off, quick!" said the 
captain to his men, who had been tying the sheeps' 
legs together, and had slung them on their backs. 

"Ah, well, I know your faces now, and I shall 

describe them to my father, and then we shall see 
if we can't find you, you rascals ! " cried Pippo, 
stamping his feet in impotent rage. 

"Very well, young Spit-fire; you shall come 
along with us, and so you wont be parted from 
your precious sheep," said the captain, with a 
laugh. "The boy has a spirit of his own; he is 
worth)' of becoming one of us, so pack him up, 
Giacomo, and make him hold his tongue, or he 
will have some one upon us." 

At this, Nina burst into a passion of sobs : 

"Oh, good sirs, leave him ; oh, don't take Pippo I 
I will give you my little gold cross, my ear-rings, 
anything, only leave me my brother ; it will break 
Mamma's heart, and Father will have no one to 
help him in the fields ; oh, do listen to me ! " 

"Thank you for the cross, little one, and the 
ear-rings too, since they are gold. And now, 
good-bye ; don't cry your pretty eyes quite out ; as- 
for Pippo, he goes with us ; and you may thank 
your stars we don't take you too, but you would 
be in the way, pretty one ! " 

So saying, the robbers started off with their 
booty, regardless of the prayers and struggles of 
little Pippo. But he was blindfolded, and was soon 
quieted by the coarse threats of the ruffians, who 
journeyed swiftly through the country. They hid 
themselves behind trees and rocks whenever a 
sound was heard ; this, however, happened but 
seldom, as they kept away from the roads and any 
houses or cottages near which their way led them. 

At last, they reached a large cave, the approach 
to which was hidden by trees and shrubs. On 
entering, a huge, burly form raised itself from the 
ground, and greeted them with : 

"Well, what news? I hope you have brought 
something for supper; the fire is lighted, but I have 
nothing better than chestnuts to cook. Hallo ! a 
boy ! and a very pretty one, too ; but by his clothes, 
I should say not a principino [young prince] nor a 
marchesino [young marquis], therefore not much 
of a ransom do be had for him, eh, Capitano ? " 

"Well, who knows, Bonifaccio ? Some of these 
contadini [peasants] have plenty of money, and, 
besides, he seems a bold little lad, and may prove 
useful to us. However, just now we are all starv- 
ing, so let us have some supper. You see, we 
have something else besides the boy." 

The brigands all busied themselves in preparing 
the meal, and ere long a joint of one of poor Pip- 
po's sheep was smoking on the table, flanked with a 



huge bowl of chestnuts, several flasks of wine, and 
two or three loaves of brown-looking bread. Boni- 
faccio, who looked somewhat less rough and fierce 
than the rest of the troop, made room for Pippo 
beside him on the rude wooden bench, and pressed 
him to eat. But the poor little fellow's heart was 
too full, and though he struggled bravely to keep 
back his tears, yet there was an uncomfortable 
feeling in his throat that took away all his appetite, 
particularly when he thought of his home, with the 
kind, gentle mother, the dear little sister, and his 
father, who, although sometimes rather rough and 

fatigue, the tears hanging on his long lashes, and 
his pretty curls lying in a yellow tangle on his un- 
comfortable pillow. 

Little Nina, left alone after the departure of the 
brigands who carried off her brother, threw herself 
in despair on the ground, sobbing bitterly, but the 
darkness, at last, made her think of home, and 
accordingly, she set off, running. Meeting her 
mother, who had come to the door of their little 
farm-house, wondering and anxious because the 
children had not returned, Nina burst forth with 
an account of what had befallen them, but in such 


stern, yet loved him dearly. How distressed they 
would be at his having been carried off! 

Meanwhile, the supper continued ; the robbers, 
after each draught of wine, began to talk loud 
and tell wild stories of their venturesome exploits. 
Then, after some noisy games with a pack of cards, 
they laid themselves down on heaps of straw, and 
covered themselves with blankets and skins. A 
huge dog was then set at the opening of the cave 
to guard them while they slept, and soon they all 
were snoring. 

Bonifaccio showed Pippo a little corner of straw 
beside him, saying: "Come with me, little boy, 
you shall have a bit of my blanket. It 's of no 
use to look at the door ; Moro would tear you to 
pieces if you should try to get past him. So, good- 
night; sleep well." 

Pippo, when the darkness quite hid him, quietly 
sobbed himself to sleep, worn out with grief and 

a state of despair and agitation, that it was some 
time before the mother could succeed in under- 
standing what had really happened. 

Then she, also, was overcome with grief, and 
rushed to the door, hoping to see her husband 
returning from the town, where he had gone to sell 
his wheat. At last, wheels were heard, and the 
father, tired, but pleased at getting home, jumped 
down with a merry shout. He was about to enter 
the house, when his wife and Nina came out, weep- 
ing, their faces pale ; and, as they stood wringing 
their hands, they told him the disastrous news. 

"Ah, you see, Maria," said the farmer, "the 
rascals knew that all the men would be in town, 
as it is market-day, but still, it was very daring. 
My poor boy ! I '11 go back immediately to Flor- 
ence, to consult the authorities, but it will be very 
difficult to get a hearing at so late an hour." 

Not long after, the father returned, saying he 




could obtain no assistance till morning, and even 
then, the officer to whom he had spoken said he 
feared there was not much chance of finding those 
brigands, as they were in strong force and very bold, 
and were hiding somewhere in the mountains, where 
it would be very dangerous and difficult to approach 
them. They all went to bed with heavy hearts, and 
it was long ere the anxious parents slept, wondering 
on what sort of couch their poor child was lying. 

The next morning, the brigands made a hast)' 
meal of the remainder of their supper, and started 
off, saying they expected a rich booty that day, for 
the carriage of a nobleman was to come along a 
road near by, and they intended to waylay it. 
Bonifaccio was left on guard, and seemed pleased 
to have a little companion. 

"Don't be down-hearted, little man; it 's a 
very jolly life we lead, and a lad of your spirit will 
much prefer it to tending sheep, or working in the 
fields all his time." 

So saying, he filled his pipe, and sat down to 

"What is this, Signor Bonifaccio?" timidly 
inquired Pippo, taking up a wooden palette from 
a bench by the wall. It had lain some time, for 
the colors were dried upon it. 

" That is something to do with painting, my 
boy, though I don't know what, exactly, and there 
is a box with the colors and brushes, if you look a 
little farther. Last time I went out with the band, 
we came across a tall artist, sitting in the fields, 
preparing to sketch, and, as he had no money, we 
took away his box, brushes, and even his canvas, 
thinking they would, at least, do for fire-wood, if 
they should prove of no other use to us. He was 
very angry, but he ought to have been only too 
glad that we left his skin whole and sound." 

" Tell me some more of your adventures, Signor 

" Very well ; " and Bonifaccio proceeded to relate 
how they had once found a richly dressed little boy, 
of about Pippo's age, and had carried him off to 
the cave, and then sent one of his little embroidered 
shoes to his father, threatening to kill the child 
unless a large ransom were paid, or if any attempt 
were made to rescue him by force. How the ransom 
was paid, and the little boy taken back by Boni- 
faccio, disguised as a peasant, and how happy the 
mother was to have her child back again. 

When he had finished the story, Pippo took him 
the canvas, on which he had, roughly, but pretty 
accurately, painted the head of Bonifaccio. 

" Bravo ! Why, I never saw a boy so handy as 
you. Why, there are my eyes, my nose, my 
beard, — everything complete ! Well, you ought 
to be an artist, Pippo, not a farmer ! " cried Boni- 
faccio, dropping his pipe in his astonishment, and 

stroking his beard, evidently much gratified, and 
looking with great admiration at his portrait, while 
Pippo's cheeks flushed with pleasure. 

" Oh, what joy it would be if only I could have 
a box like that, and paint every day ! " exclaimed 
Pippo. "Do, dear Signor Bonifaccio, let me run 
home now. I can never be a brigand, and should 
only be a useless trouble to you all." 

"Run home, indeed!" said Bonifaccio, not ill- 
naturedly. "Well, wait till the captain comes 
home, and we shall see what can be done for you." 

Pippo described his home, and his little sister, 
who had been so distressed at losing him, and had 
only just finished his account, when the brigands 
came trooping in, very hungry, but in excellent 
spirits, throwing money on the table, to astonish 
their comrade, Bonifaccio. He, in return, showed 
Pippo's work, and the captain, who, being a little 
more educated than the rest, appreciated the paint- 
ing still more than Bonifaccio, was surprised to find 
so much talent in the little peasant. 

" You shall paint me, now, and then we shall see 
what reward you shall have," said he. Pippo took 
pains, and succeeded in rendering the fierce black 
eyes, and long, pointed mustache, to the satisfac- 
tion of the noble captain, and then he begged, as 
his reward, to be allowed to return home. Boni- 
faccio seconded the boy, representing to the cap- 
tain the uselessness of keeping the child, and, 
at last, the leader consented to let him go, first 
making him promise solemnly not to betray their 
retreat. He ordered him to be led some distance 
blindfolded, so that he never could find the way 
back, even if the soldiers should try to compel 

When the evening twilight had arrived, he sent 
Pippo, accompanied by one of the band, and, to 
his great delight, with the paint-box and palette in 
his hands, down the rough mountain path. At 
last they arrived at a forest, and the brigand, tell- 
ing Pippo he had but to go straight on toward the 
dome of the cathedral, uncovered his eyes, said 
" Addio," and left him. 

Pippo trudged joyously on, thinking of the 
account he would give to his parents of his time in 
the cave, and of the arguments he would employ 
to induce his father to let him go to Florence and 
stud) - painting. After the art had been his ran- 
som from the cave, surely his father would not 
think it of no use, and a mere waste of time ! 

But night was fallen, and he no longer saw the 
friendly dome. So, fearful of going still farther 
from home in the darkness, and being very wear)-, 
he at last crept into a large hollow tree, and, pil- 
lowing his head on the treasured paint-box, fell fast 

The sun was shining when he awoke, feeling 



very hungry. Fortunately, Bonifaccio had given 
him some bread, so he refreshed himself with this, 
and a little spring water, and set off in the direction 
of his home. At last the dear home roof came in 
sight, and Pippo, shouting in his joy, was answered 
by the bark of a dog, that came rushing toward 
him. Nina followed soon, with sparkling eyes, and 
after her came the father and mother, scarcely able 
to contain their joy. Pippo was embraced by all 
three at once, and even the little dog appeared to 
share in the delight, for he kept jumping up and 
frantically trying to lick his hands. 

" Let him have some breakfast, poor child," said 
the mother, "and after that, he can tell us all his 

" Here, Nina, is your little cross — the captain 
sent it back to you ; and Father, look here ! " cried 
Pippo, eagerly, showing his box. 

After his breakfast, he related all his doings in 
the robbers' cave, and the means of his deliverance. 
He ended, coaxingly : "And now, Padre mio, I 
may go to study in Florence, may I not ? — and 
become a painter like Giotto. You will see what 
pictures I shall make; do, please, let me go." 

"Well, Pippo, my boy, I shall see. I am afraid 
you are not worth much to guard the sheep, so I 
shall talk to Padre Stefano, and see if I can afford 
it. Meanwhile, paint a portrait of Nina, that I 
may take with me to some painter and ask his 
opinion of it." 

Pippo set to work, and, inspired by the hope of 
gaining the long-wished consent, produced a like- 
ness, which the Florentine artist looked at with 
great interest, finally declaring that it showed much 
talent, and expressing astonishment on hearing the 
youth of the painter. 

"Send him to me, my friend," said he to Pip- 
po's father; "you have there a genius. I shall be 
delighted to guide his efforts, for I am sure he will 
hereafter do me honor." 

And these words came true, for this little boy 
was no other than Filippo Lippi, one of the great 
painters of Italy. And his pictures, now more than 
four hundred years old, are of priceless worth. Trav- 
elers from all parts of the world go to see them. 
Most of them are collected and exhibited in Flor- 
ence, his native town, where he was employed for 
many years by a great Duke of that time. 




By John Lewees. 

ABOUT half a mile from the town of Danford, 
there was an extensive and beautiful piece of forest 
land. Many of the trees were large and picturesque, 
the ground beneath them was generally free from 
unpleasant undergrowth and bushes, and, in some 
places, it was covered with moss and delicately 
colored wild-flowers ; there were green open glades, 
where the bright sunshine played fantastic, tricks 
with the shadows of the surrounding trees, and, 
altogether, the Danford forest was a delightful 
place, and any visitor, of ordinary reasoning powers, 
would have supposed it to be a favorite resort of the 

But it was not ; very few persons, excepting now 
and then some boys of a disobedient turn of mind, 
ever visited it. The reason for this was the fact, 
that near the center of the woods there lay a large 
pond, which had a bad reputation. This pond was 
so large, that in some parts of the country, where 
such bodies of water are not common, it would have 
been called a lake. 

In ordinary cases, the presence of such a sheet 
of water would have greatly added to the attrac- 
tions of the place, but this pond exercised an 
influence which overbalanced all the attractive 
beauties of the woods, and made it a lonely and 
deserted spot. 

The reason of this was the peculiar reputation of 
the Black Pond. A great many strange things 
were said about it. Its color was enough to mystify 
some people, and terrify others, for it was as black 
as ink. Persons who had stood upon its edge and 
had looked down upon it, and over its wide ex- 
panse, were unable to sec an inch below the surface 
of the water, which, instead of being in the least 
transparent, appeared, when there was no wind, 
like one of those dark-colored mirrors called 
" Claude Lorraine glasses," in which a whole land- 
scape is reflected like a little living picture, with all 
its proportions, its perspective, and its colors, per- 
fectly preserved. 

It might have been supposed that this lake would 
have presented an attractive picture, on bright days, 
when the sky, the clouds, and the overhanging 
foliage were reflected in its smooth and polished 
surface ; but water which is as black as ink is not 
the kind of water that people generally like to 
look at. There are ordinary ponds and lakes and 
rivers, in which the sky, clouds, and trees are re- 
flected, in a way that is good enough for anybody. 

But although it was, in color, such a blot upon 

the beauty of the Danford woods, the blackness of 
this pond was not the greatest objection to it. The 
most dreadful thing about it was that it had no 
bottom ! There is something truly terrifying in the 
idea of a body of water that is bottomless. There 
are persons who would feel much safer in sailing 
over those portions of the ocean which have been 
proved to be five or six miles deep, than over the 
vast expanses of rolling billows, where bottom has 
never been found. 

And it was well known that bottom had never 
been found in the Black Pond. Sons had heard 
this from their fathers, and fathers from their 
fathers, for Danford was an old town, and the 
Black Pond had always been the same, as far back 
as the local history and traditions went. 

For a long time no attempts at sounding, or 
examining, in any way, the waters of the pond had 
been made. Any undertaking of the kind would 
have been too dangerous. There was no boat on 
the pond, and it was not easy to carry one there, 
and if persons wished to go out in the middle of the 
pond to make soundings, a raft would have to be 
built, and the consequences to any one falling off 
this would be too terrible to contemplate. Even 
the best swimmer would fear to find himself in 
water where he would probably become cramped 
and sink, and be sucked down, and down, and 
down, nobody knows where. 

In winter, when the pond was frozen over, and 
so might have offered a temptation to the skating 
boys of the town, — for there are boys who think 
that any kind of water is safe, if it is covered with 
ice, — the parents and guardians of Danford so 
sternly forbade any venturing on the surface of 
that dangerous pond, that no owner of skates ever 
dared to try them on the dark ice which covered a 
still darker mystery beneath. 

In fact, those boys who had ever ventured to the 
edge of the pond, in winter or summer, had gener- 
ally been fellows, as has been intimated before, 
who had been told never to go near it. 

And so it happened that the presence of this 
dismal piece of water made people unwilling that 
their children should go into the woods, for fear 
that they might wander to the pond. And, as they 
did not wish to do themselves what they had for- 
bidden to their children, they took their own rural 
walks in other directions, and the woods, thus get- 
ting a bad name throughout that country, grad- 
ually became quite lonely and deserted. 



At the time of our story, there lived in the town 
of Danford, a man named Curtis Blake, who was 
well known on account of a peculiar personal char- 
acteristic. He had no arms. He had been a sol- 
dier, and had lost them both in battle. 

^Curtis was a strong, well-made man, and as he 
had a very good pair of legs left to him after the 
misfortunes of war, he used them in going errands 
and in doing anything by which walking could be 
made useful and profitable. But, as there was not 
much employment of this kind to be had, he fre- 
quently found himself with a great deal of time — 
not on his hands exactly — but which he could not 
advantageously employ. Consequently he used to 
ramble about a good deal in a purposeless sort of 
way, and, one summer afternoon, he rambled into 
the Danford woods. 

He found it very cool and pleasant here, and he 
could not help thinking what a pity it was that the 
towns-people could not make a resort of these 
woods, which were so convenient to the town and 
so delightful, in every way. But, of course, he 
knew that it would never do for families, or for any 
one, in fact, to frequent the vicinity of such a dan- 
gerous piece of water as the Black Pond. 

And, thinking of the Black Pond, he walked on 
until he came to it and stood upon its edge, gazing 
thoughtfully out upon its smooth and somber 

" If I had arms," said Curtis to himself, " I 'd 
go to work and find out just how deep this pond is. 
I 'd have a boat carted over from Stevens' Inlet — 
it 's only four or five miles — and I 'd row out into 
the middle of the pond with all the clothes-line I 
could buy or borrow in the town, and I 'd let down 
a good heavy lead, that would n't be pulled about 
by currents. I 'd fasten on line after line, and I think 
there would certainly be enough rope in the whole 
town to reach to the bottom. But, having no 
arms, I could n't lower a line even if I had a boat. 
So I can't do it, and I 'm not going to advise any 
other folks to try it, for ten to one they 'd get 
excited and tumble overboard, and there would be 
an end of them, and I 'd get the blame of it. But 
I 'd like to know, anyway, how soon the bottom 
begins to shelve down steep. If we knew that, we 
could tell if there 'd be any danger to a little cod- 
ger, who might tumble in from the shore. And if 
it does shelve sudden, the town ought to put up a 
high fence all around it. I 've a mind to try how 
deep it is, near shore." 

If Curtis had Le;n like other men, he would have 
cut a long pole, and tried the depth of the pond, a 
short distance from land. But he could not do 
that, and there was only one way in which he could 
carry out his plan, and that he determined to try. 
He would carefully wade in, and feel with his feet 

for the place where the bottom began to shelve 
down. This was a rash and bold proceeding, but 
Curtis was a bold fellow and not very prudent, and 
he had become very much interested in finding out 
something about the bottom of this pond. It was 
not often, now, that he had anything to interest 

He wore high boots, in which he had often 
waded, and his clothes were thin linen, of not very 
good quality, so that if they became blackened by 
the water, it would not much matter. As for tak- 
ing cold, when he came out, Curtis never thought 
of that. He was a tough fellow, and could soon 
dry himself in the sun. 

Having made up his mind, he did not further 
delay, but stepped cautiously into the water. Even 
near the shore, he could not see the bottom, and 
he moved very slowly out, feeling his way carefully 
with one foot before he made a step. He did not 
expect that the bottom would begin to descend 
rapidly, very near the shore, but as he got out, ten 
or fifteen feet from land, and found the water was 
considerably above his knees, he began to take 
still greater precautions. He advanced sidewise, 
standing on one foot and stretching the other 
one out, as far as he could, to make sure that he 
was not on the edge of an unseen precipice. In 
this way he went slowly on and on, the water get- 
ting deeper and deeper, until it was up to his waist. 
He now felt a slight rise in the bottom before him. 
This made him very cautious, for he knew that 
where there was a great opening down into the 
bowels of the earth, there was, almost always, a 
low mound thrown up around it, and this mound 
he had probably reached. It sloped up very gently 
on the side where he was, but on the other side it 
might o° down, almost perpendicularly. 

So no man ever moved more slowly through the 
water than did Curtis now. A few inches at a time, 
still feeling before him with one foot, he went cau- 
tiously on. He was very much excited, and even a 
little afraid that he might unaware reach the edge 
of the precipice, or that the ground might suddenly 
crumble beneath him. He had not intended to 
venture in so far. But he did not turn back. He 
must go a little farther. He had almost reached 
the edge of the great mystery of the Black Pond ! 

But he had not reached it yet. The ground on 
which he stood still rose, although by slow degrees, 
so that he was really higher out of water than he 
had been, ten minutes before. 

Suddenly, he looked up from the water, down on 
which he had been gazing as if he had expected to 
see some deeper blackness beneath its black sur- 
face, and glanced in front of him. Then he turned 
and looked behind him. Then he stood still, and 
gave a great shout. 




The shout echoed from the surrounding woods ; 
the birds and the insects, and the rabbits, which 
flew, and hummed, and jumped about so freely in 
those solitudes, must have been amazed ! Such a 
shout had not been heard near the Black Pond in 
the memory of any living thing. 

It was repeated again and again, and it was a 
shout of laughter ! 

No wonder Curtis laughed. He was a good deal 
more than half way across the pond ! He had 
walked right over the place where that mysterious 
depth was supposed to be, and the water had not 
reached his shoulders. The gradual rise in the 
bottom, which he supposed to be a mound, was 
the rise toward the opposite shore ! 

When Curtis Blake had finished laughing, he 
pushed through the water as fast as he could go, — 
he almost ran, — and in a very few minutes he stood 
on the bank, at the other side of the pond. He 
turned and looked back over the water. He had 
crossed over the very middle of the pond ! 

Then he laughed and laughed again, forgetting 
his wet clothes, forgetting everything but the fact 
that he, without ropes or leads or boat or raft, or 
even arms, had found the bottom of this dreaded 
piece of water, that he had actually put his foot 
upon the great mystery of the Black Pond ! 

When his merriment and delight began to quiet 
down a little, he waded into the water again, at a 
different point from that where he came out, and 
crossed the pond in another direction, this time 
walking freely, and as rapidly as he could go. 
Then he ran in again, and walked about, near the 
middle. In no place was it much above his waist. 

When Curtis was fully convinced that this was 
the case, and that he had walked pretty nearly all 
over the bottom of Black Pond, — at least, that part 
of the bottom where the water was the deepest, — 
he came out and went back to the town. 

Curtis met no one as he hurried along the road 
from the woods, but as soon as he reached the 
town he went into a large store, where he was well 
acquainted. There were a good many people 
there, waiting for the afternoon mail, for, at one 
end of the store was the post-office. 

"Why, Curtis Blake!" exclaimed a man, as he 
entered. " You look as if you had been half 

"1 ought to look that way," said Curtis, "for 
I 've been to the bottom of the Black Pond." 

No one made any response to this astounding 
assertion. The people just stood, and looked at 
one another. Then Mr. Faulkner, the owner of 
the store, exclaimed : 

"Curtis, I am ashamed of you! You must be 

" No man ever saw me tipsy," said Curtis, with- 

out getting in the least angry. He had expected 
to astonish people, and make them say strange 

"Then you are crazy," replied Mr. Faulkner, 
"for no man could go to the bottom of Black 
Pond, and come back alive." 

"There is n't any bottom!" cried one of the 
little crowd. ' ' How could he go to the bottom 
when there is no bottom there ? " 

This made the people laugh, but Curtis still 
persisted that what he had told them was entirely 
correct. Not a soul, however, believed him, and 
everybody began to try to prove to him, or to the 
rest, that what he had said could not possibly be 
true, and that it was all stuff and nonsense. There 
was so much interest in the discussion, that no one 
thought of going to see if any letters had come 
for him. There could be no more exciting news 
in any letter or newspaper than that a man avowed 
he had gone to the bottom of Black Pond. 

" Well," said Curtis, at last, " these clothes are 
getting to feel unpleasant, now that I 'm out of the 
sun, and I don't want to stay here any longer to 
talk about this thing. But I '11 tell you all, and 
you can tell anybody you choose, that to-morrow 
morning, at nine o'clock, I 'm going again to the 
bottom of Black Pond, and any one who has a mind 
to, can come and see me do it. " 

And, with these words, he walked off. 

There was a great deal of talk that evening in 
Danford about Curtis Blake's strange statement, 
and about what he had said he would do the next 
day. Most persons thought that he intended some 
hoax or practical joke ; for a man without arms, 
and who, therefore, could not' swim, could not go 
to the bottom of an ordinary river and expect to 
come back again alive. Of course, anybody could 
go to the bottom and stay there. There was cer- 
tainly some trick about it. Curtis was known to be 
fond of a joke. But whatever people thought on 
the subject, and there were a good many different 
opinions, every man and boy, who could manage 
to do it, made up his mind to go, the next day, at 
nine o'clock, and see what Curtis Blake intended 
to do at Black Pond. Even if it should turn out 
to be all a hoax, this would be a good opportunity 
to visit the famous pond, for, with so many people 
about, there could not be much danger. Quite a 
crowd of interested towns-folk assembled on the 
shore of the Black Pond, the next day, and Curtis 
did not disappoint them. 

About nine o'clock he walked in among them, 
wearing the same boots and clothes which he had 
worn the day before, and then, after looking around, 
as if to see that everybody was paying attention, 
he deliberately waded into the pond. 

At this, everybody held his breath, but, in a 



moment, there arose calls to him to come back, and 
not make a fool of himself. He had no board, no 
life-preserver, nor anything with which he could 
save himself, when he should begin to sink. But 
fearful as the people were for his safety, not one 
dared to run in and pull him back. 

On he went, as he had gone before, only walking 
a good deal faster this time, and the people now 
stood still, without speaking a word or making a 
sound. Every minute they expected to see Curtis 
disappear from their sight forever. The birds, the 
insects, and the rabbits might have supposed that 
there was no one about, had it not been for the 

that Curtis had built a bridge under water, and 
that he had walked on it ! As if a man, without 
arms, could build a bridge, and walk on it, without 
seeing it ! 

Curtis, however, soon put an end to all con- 
jectures and doubts by walking over the bottom of 
the pond, from one side to the other, in various 
directions, and by wandering about in the middle 
in such a way as to prove to every one that there 
was no mystery at all about the Black Pond, and 
that it was nothing but a wide and nearly circular 
piece of water, with a good hard bottom, and was 
not four feet deep in any part. 


swashing of the man who was pushing through the 

As Curtis approached the middle of the pond, 
the excitement became intense, and some men 
turned pale ; but when he hurried on, and was seen 
to get into shallower water, people began to breathe 
more freely, and when he ran out on the opposite 
bank there went up a great cheer. 

Now all was hubbub and confusion. Most peo- 
ple saw how the matter really was, but some 
persons could not comprehend, at once, that their 
long-cherished idea that the Black Pond had no 
bottom, was all a myth, and there were incred- 
ulous fellows, who were bound to have a reason 
for their own way of thinking, and who asserted 

The news of this discovery by Curtis Blake made 
a great sensation in Danford. Some people felt 
a little ashamed, for they had taken a good deal of 
pride in telling their friends, when they went visit- 
ing, about the wonderful pond, near their town, 
which had no bottom ; but, on the whole, the 
towns-people were very glad of the discovery, for 
now they could freely enjoy the woods, and many 
persons were astonished to find what a delightful 
place it was for picnics and afternoon rambles. 

As if no portion of mystery should remain about 
the Black Pond, even the color of its water was in- 
vestigated and explained. Some scientific gentle- 
men from a city not far away, who came to Danford 
about this time, and who heard the story of the 




pond, went out there and examined into the cause 
of its inky hue. They said that it was due, like the 
darkness of the water of many creeks and pools, 
to the overhanging growth of pine, hemlock, and 
similar trees which surrounded it. They did not 
explain exactly how this darkening process had 
been carried on, but they said it probably took 
hundreds of years to make the pond as black as it 
now was, and nobody doubted that. 

But although the woods and the pond now 
became a favorite summer resort with the Danford 
people, it was in winter that they really enjoyed the 
place the most. Then the Black Pond was frozen 
over, and it made the finest skating ground in that 
part of the country. And its greatest merit was its 
absolute safety. Even if a small boy should break 
through, — which was not likely to happen, — any 
man could step in, or reach down and take him 
out. The ice was generally so thick that there was 
scarcely three feet of water beneath it, in the deep- 
est parts. 

On fine days, during the cold months, people 
came out to the pond, in carriages and on foot, and 
they had gay times, with their skating, and their 
games on the ice. But they were hardly so gay as 
the folks who could not come in the day-time, but 
had to do their skating in the evening. On moon- 
light nights, the pond was beautiful, but the skaters 
came on dark nights, all the same, for lamp-posts 

were set up in different parts of the pond (holes 
were cut in the ice, and they were planted firmly 
on the bottom), and thus the pond was made as 
bright and cheerful as the merriest skater could 

Among the merriest skaters was Curtis Blake, 
for skating was one of the few things he could do, 
and Mr. Faulkner gave him a capital pair of 

But this was not all the reward he received for 
solving the mystery of the Black Pond. Several 
of the leading citizens, who thought that the town 
owed him something for giving it such a pleasant 
place of resort, consulted together on the subject, 
and it was decided to make him keeper of the woods 
and pond. He had a couple of old men under him, 
and it was his duty to see that the woods were kept 
in order in summer, and that the pond was free 
from snow and obstructions in winter. 

And thus the great mystery of the Black Pond 
came to an end. But there were elderly people 
in the town, who never went out to the pond, and 
who believed that something dreadful would hap- 
pen there yet. There used to be no bottom to the 
pond, they said, and they should not wonder if, 
some day, it should fall out again. 

"Yes," said Curtis Blake to one of these, "I 
expect that will happen, — just about the time my 
arms begin to grow." 


By Nora Perry. 

Oh, tell me when does Someday come, 

That wonderful bright day, 
Where all the best times are put off, 

And pleasures hid away ! 
I know the rest of all the days 

Just as they read and run ; 
Can say and spell them week by week, 

And count them one by one. 

They bring me, now and then, fine things, 

Gay toys, and jolly play ; 
But never, never such fine things 

As are kept hid away 
In that great wonder-land that lies 

Forever out of sight, 
Which I can never, never find 

By any day or night. 

But sometime, ah, I 'm very sure, 

Whan I grow big and tall, 
I '11 find the way to that Someday, 

And, hidden there, find all 
The treasures I have wanted so, 

And missed from day to day — 
The treasures they have always said 

That I should have Someday. 



By Emily Huntington Miller. 

HE never expected 
me to tell you about 
it; in fact, she never 
expected me at all. 
People do not begin 
by being great-grand- 
mothers, though you 
might have thought 
she looked very like 
one, if you had 
g^ caught sight 
of her in her 

^'}MWf^^> 'Ifffe 1 c i uaint dress > 

'-'■■■ tripping along 

the wide gravel- 
walk that wound 
about the spacious 
grounds; or if you had 
seen her leaving the 
steps of the old family 
mansion for the visit that 
I shall tell you about. It 
was Sunday morning, and, 
although she was not going to church, she had 
a leather-covered prayer-book folded in her hand- 
kerchief in one hand. In the other was a small 
basket covered with a napkin. Her name, " Meli- 
cent Moore," was written in the book. She 
went out and climbed upon the tall horse-block, 
and stood there tilting about, first on one foot, 
and then on the other, for she had not begun to 
feel grandmothery, and it was hard to keep still 
with the sun twinkling at her through the sweet 
gum-tree, and all the birds singing their mer- 
riest. Her father came out presently, and when 
he was settled in his saddle, and her mother 
on a red velvet pillion behind him, he reached out 
a strong arm and lifted Melicent up in front of him. 
The great horse stepped off as easily as if he con- 
sidered the load not worth mentioning, and so they 
rode on through the piny woods ; for this was in 
Virginia, in the good Old Colony times, when 
people lived in peace, and prayed for Parliament 
and King George. The sandy road was carpeted 
with brown pine-needles, and everything was so 
sweet, and warm, and spicy, that Melicent began 
to chatter, but her father said gravely : 

"The Lord is in His holy temple; let all the 
earth keep silence before Him." 

Melicent did not quite understand, but she kept 
silence, and wondered — wondered why the birds 

sang on Sunday, and where the Lord staid on 
week-days, and why He did n't like to hear little 
girls talk. 

By and by, they came to a shallow brook. It 
was as full of sunshine as it could hold, and carried 
it right down through the woods. The road 
crossed it, and went on beyond it ; but at the ford 
a narrow loot-path came in, leading along the bank 
as if it was lonesome, and kept close to the brook 
for company. 

Melicent knew the path very well. She traveled 
it every day to the next plantation, when she went 
to lessons with her three cousins and their gov- 
erness. She was going now to see Phillis, a very 
old negro woman, who had been her mother's 
nurse, and who insisted upon living by herself in a 
little cabin out in the woods. Phillis was born in 
Africa, and had been a princess in her own land, 
she said, which might very likely have been true. 
She loved her mistress, but she scorned the other 
servants, and to the day of her death was an 
obstinate old heathen at heart, recognizing the 
Bible and the prayer-book, and the heaven they 
taught about, as very good for white folks, but 
expecting beyond a doubt to go straight to Africa 
the moment her spirit should be free. 

Melicent's father stopped at the ford, and put 
her carefully down from her perch. 

" Remember the Sabbath day, my daughter," 
said her mother, " and read to Phillis the lessons I 
marked in your prayer-book." 

" Yes, Mamma," said Melicent, and stood a 
moment to watch the black horse step slowly into 
the bright water, and put down his head to drink 
right in a swirl of dancing ripples. It looked as if 
the little flecks of gold were running into his 
mouth, and she laughed to herself very softly, and 
then went on up the brook. Phillis's cabin stood 
in a little hollow, so that you could not see it until 
you suddenly found the brown roof right at your 
feet, as you sometimes find a ground-bird's nest. 
The cabin was so weather-beaten, and so covered 
with creepers, that it looked a good deal like a nest 
in the tangle. 

Melicent went on watching the brook, and the 
birds, and the squirrels, and thinking that, when 
she should become an old woman, she, too, would 
have a lovely little cabin in the woods, when, all 
of a sudden, she stopped on the top of the knoll, 
and looked down into the little empty hollow. 

The brown nest was gone as completely as if 

5 o8 



some great tricksy fellow had picked it up and doubt of that ; she could see the ashes and a 
carried it off in his pocket ! few charred logs, but where was poor old Phillis ? 

Melicent's heart thrilled with fear and aston- 
ishment. The sunshiny woods seemed awfully 
lonesome, and she tried to call out, but her voice 
only made a faint little 
sound. She thought of 
earthquakes and every- 
thing horrible. She re- 
membered that some- 
body had said Phillis 
was a witch and 
would never die, 
but would just 
disappear. What 
if she had gone, 
and taken her 
house with her ? 

May be they had taken her away to Uncle Hil- 

Just then she remembered the verse she had 
learned that morning: "Therefore will we not 
fear, though the earth be removed." She felt 
as if some one had spoken the words to her, 
and she walked bravely down into the hollow. 
The cabin had been burned : there was no 

dreth's, and Melicent looked down the path with 
an idea of going to see, when she caught sight 
of a handkerchief waved feebly from a little play- 
house of rails and pine-branches which she and 
her cousins had made just back among the trees. 
She was there in a moment, down on her knees by 



Phillis, kissing her wrinkled, old face, and calling 
her as loving names as she might have lavished 
upon her own beautiful grandmother. 

" Oh, Phillis ! I thought you were burned up. 1 
was so frightened. What made the house burn?" 

"Don' know; fire mos' likely ; could ye make 
me a cup o' tea, honey? The things is all in that 
heap, whar 1 dropped them. The tea is in a blue 
mug, and I kivered up some coals in the bake- 
kittle ; but I 'se powerful weak this mornin'." 

Melicent remembered her basket, and brought 
out a bottle of blackberry cordial which seemed 
to refresh Phillis wonderfully, and then the child 

that her father was coming to the ford. But it 
seemed to her that ages and ages went by, and an 
awful stillness crept up from the woods. The 
brook was all in the shadow, now. What if they 
should forget to stop for her, and she and Phillis 
should have to stay there all night ? She looked 
at Phillis again, and crept a little farther away. 
She was so still, and there was something cold in 
her face, it made her feel lonesome to be near her. 
She got up softly and sat under the big pine, and 
watched and listened, and fell asleep. 

Away down at the ford the hunting-whistle 
sounded sweet and clear. Not verv loud, for it was 


made her a cup of tea. She was sorry for Phillis, 
but it was prime fun to have the old woman in her 
play-house, and actually to make tea herself, out 
there in the woods. There was enough for both 
of them in the little basket, and Melicent con- 
scientiously read the lessons in the prayer-book, 
though Phillis went to sleep. It was a long day, 
after all, for Phillis was too tired to tell her stories, 
yet insisted that she should not go away. 

Once, when Phillis had been asleep, she began 
to talk in a strange language and throw her arms 
about, and Melicent was afraid. 

"Phillis," she said, "I think I 'd better call 
Uncle Hildreth. I '11 run all the way." 

" Set still, honey. I 'se mighty comf'table ; my 
j'ints is wrenched draggin' the bed and things out 
o' the fire," and Phillis went off in a doze again. 

Melicent read her prayer-book, and listened for 
the sound of the hunting-whistle that would tell her 

Sunday, and the stillness was too sacred to be pro- 
faned. The black horse waited, but no Melicent 
came dancing down the path, so her father came, 
and found her asleep under the pine-tree. 

"Oh, father," she said, when she waked in his 
arms, "the cabin is burned up, and Phillis is so 
tired, she sleeps and sleeps." 

Htr father was a quiet man, and he only kissed 
her, and carried her to where the black horse was 
waiting impatiently, bearing her mother. 

" Take her home," he said to her mother, " and 
send Homer back to me. Old Phillis is dead." 

Melicent's mother put one arm about her as they 
rode home, but she did not ask many questions. 

" Is Phillis in heaven ? " asked Melicent, timidly. 

" I hope so," said her mother. 

" Because," said the little girl, "if they let her 
choose, I know she 'd go to Africa, and then I never 
shall see her again." 





By Olive Thorne. 

The Royal Stag is born a pretty little black- structure falls off, and a new pair starts out. For 
eyed baby, called a fawn. His coat is a soft about two months he hides himself in the deepest 
golden-brown, spotted with white, and he is very solitude he can find, while the antlers grow to their 
weak and helpless— like most other babies. He is full size, for during the time they are so soft they 
more knowing than some lit- ymmSMmZ. k&. may be belU int ° 3 " y ShapC ' 

tie folk, though, for— i^iiif '''iflilin^^ir' - They are P rotected by a 

helpless as he is— he , .■^m^^m WSmiWk^ Blll^&sg* black skin, covered 

knows how to ijf ji|Kn|H^H| lli«iitefe^ with soft ' vel " 

take care of jSUmK^mS^Xt£% ■■ ' * V ^WM^l vety fur, 


himself when men and horses come out to hunt, 
and his mamma has to run for her life, leaving him 
far behind. This is the baby's only trick, and it 
is simply to lie down and keep perfectly still. In 
that way he generally escapes being seen, and when 
hunters and horses have gone home, and_ the 
mother comes back, she is pretty sure to find her 
little one all safe and well. 

When the fawn is a year old, he arrives at the 
dignity of his first horns, and is called no more a 
fawn, but a brocket. Each succeeding year he gets 
one more branch to his antlers, and increases in 
beauty till he is full-grown and worthy of his proud 
name — the Royal Stag. 

His antlers are his glory, and are as wonderful as 
the)' are beautiful. Every year the whole great 

and are said to be "in the velvet." When his 
antlers are fully grown and hard, the proud stag 
rubs them against trees and bushes till he tears off 
the velvet in strings and tatters, and then he is 
ready to take his place in society once more. 

Hunting the stag has been the favorite sport in 
Europe from the days of flint-head arrows till now, 
when the few that survive the long war upon their 
race live in parks provided for them, cared for by 
armed keepers, and protected by strong laws. 

The deer-parks are large, and inclose ample 
forests, for though the beautiful shy creatures will 
come hesitatingly around the sheds that men have 
built, and timidly eat of the hay, and lick the salt 
that men have provided, they are not tame. Ages 
of hunting have made them quick to take fright. 




In summer, when trees arc green, and buds tender 
and plentiful, they wander into the deepest parts 
of the woods, and enjoy peace and solitude. 

The picture shows a winter scene in a deer-park. 
The fawns and their mothers, perhaps more con- 
tiding, or more ignorant of the world than the 
fathers of the herd, are eating the sweet hay under 
the shed, while the stags draw near cautiously, 
watching carefully for dangers on the way. 

At his post in the tree, is the gamekeeper or 
forester, looking with interest at the herd, counting 
the animals, and noting their age by the number 
of branches on the antlers. He is also a hunter, 
and so has a rifle, for when venison is wanted, it is 
he who must select and bring it in ; and he never 
goes into the forest unarmed, since it is a part of 
his duty to keep poachers away from the deer. 

This park is in Germany, and under the shed- 
roof is a loft for hay, which is put in through the 
door you see in front. At the back, where the 
deer are feeding, the fodder is thrown down into 
the ricks, where the animals can get it. 

The stag has an American cousin — the wapiti 
— which is more interesting because it can be 
tamed. Judge J. D. Caton, of Illinois, has kept 
a herd of wapiti in a park for more than fifteen 
years, and has written many interesting things 
about them. 

The baby wapiti is a pretty, spotted little fellow, 
with one very cunning trick. It "plays 'possum"; 
that is, it pretends to be dead. One may take it 
up and handle it, lay it down and walk off, and it 
will be limp as a wet rag, not showing a sign of 
life, yet — and this is what is funny — it does not 
shut its eyes, but watches every motion with lively 
interest. The first time Judge Caton saw one play 
the trick, he thought it was paralyzed. 

In this family, the does — or mothers — are often 
tame and familiar, will eat out of the hand and sub- 
mit to be stroked ; but when they have young 
fawns they are usually very shy, though the judge 
had one that not only would let him pat her little 
one and, lift it to its feet, but really seemed to be 
proud of his attentions. There is one thing, how- 
ever, that always exasperates them to the wildest 
fury, and that is the sight of a dog. No matter 
how innocent and well-meaning, still less how big 
and fierce, no sooner does a dog show his head in 
the deer-park than every doe throws forward her 
ears, shows her teeth, and flies at him. 

No dog is brave enough to face the enraged 
creature. To drop his tail and tear madly away, 
yelping, and glancing fearfully back at his enemy, 
is his irresistible instinct. When the doe over- 
takes him, she strikes with her fore feet, and, if the 
first blow knocks him down, the second finishes 
him. Then the does lay back their ears, and 

glance about in a defiant manner, as though they 
said : " Now show us another dog ! " 

The bucks care less about dogs, but they usually 
join in the chase, following their excited partners, 
probably to see the fun, and find out who wins. 
Forty or fifty full-grown deer, furiously chasing one 
small cur, is a funny sight. But often a whole pack 
of dogs chase one poor deer, in Europe, so a lover of 
fair play can not be very sorry that in this part of 
the world the dogs have the worst of it, sometimes. 

In winter the wapiti, in Judge Caton's park, 
come on a run when the keeper calls, and readily 
take food from his hand, crunching a large ear of 
corn at one mouthful. He can go among them and 
put his hand on them, and they are very tame. But 
in summer, when food is plenty in the woods, and 
they are comfortably settled in the cool shade, or 
lying in a delightful pool, the keeper may shout 
himself hoarse, and they pay no attention. 

The wapiti is generally silent, but when angry 
he utters a fearful squeal, so loud and high that it 
sounds like a steam-whistle. When one hears that 


sound, he may be thankful to have a good wall 
between him and the fierce creature. 

It has been often said, and perhaps as often 
denied, that deer shed tears. Judge Caton settles 
the question by a story of genuine tears shed by 
one of his own animals, when caged and very much 
frightened. He says, also, that the wapiti can 
smile, or rather, can show " a horrid grin." It is 




when angry and threatening that he throws up his 
head, draws back his lips, and uncovers his teeth, 
which grate together horribly, as though longing 
to bite one. When he is in this smiling mood, 
visitors retire. A dig with his antlers, or a blow 
with his sharp fore foot, is not to be desired. 

However tame the wapiti becomes, and however 
many things he submits to, there is a place where 
he draws the line. He will not be driven through 
a gate. One may open a gate, and leave it, and he 
may walk through ; but try to drive him, and he 's 
off to the other end of the park. 

All of this family change their dress twice a year. 
The winter suit is of soft, thick fur, with an over- 

coat of long, wavy hairs. When this is shed, it 
falls off in great patches, hanging down a foot or 
more ; but the summer coat, which then comes to 
light, is silky, fine, and of a bright russet brown. 

Young wapiti may be broken to harness, taught 
to live in a barn, and to draw loads. 

The stag and wapiti have antlers sometimes five 
feet long, and every branch has its name. The 
body of the antler is called the "beam," the large 
branches are called "tines," and the small ones 
"snags." The first pair of branches, standing out 
from the forehead, are called the "brow-tines"; 
the next pair the "bez-tines"; the third, "royal- 
tines"; and the fourth, " sur-royal-tines. " 

By Rosa Graham. 

Three little maidens chanced, one day, 

To meet together while at play ; 

I 'm very glad you came this way," 

The first, a social little maid, 

Delighted, to the second said : 

Tell me your name, and I '11 tell mine,- 

It 's Cora Dora Waterpine." 

These words ; she shook her curly head. 

Ach, ach ! ich kann dich nicht versteh'n," 

Back laughingly the answer sped, 

Whilst to the third she spoke again : 

Was sagt das Miidchen ? Wenn du 's weiszt, 

Zu horen wiirde ich gereizt." 




The third — she was a merry wight — 
Stood giggling, too, with all her might : 
But, suddenly, her cheeks grew bright, 

"En verite ! En verite!" 

Softly, the others heard her say, 

" Je sais que ce n'est pas poli — 
Peut-on me blamer si je ris?" 

Three little maidens standing there, 

Each with a puzzled, solemn air, 

A moment silent, paused to stare 

But, "If I ever!" Speedily 

The first one cried : "It can not be 

That my words are as yours to me ; 

Come, tell your names, and I '11 tell mine, — 

It 's Cora Dora Waterpine." 

But still the second shook her head, 

Backward the merry answer sped, 

E'en merrier than before she said : 
" Ach, ach, ich kann dich nicht versteh'n ! " 

So to the other spoke again. 
" Was sagt das Madchen ? Wenn du 's weiszt, 

Zu horen wiirde ich gereizt." 

And still the third — this jolly wight — 
Stood giggling, too, with all her might ; 
Till once again her cheeks grew bright, 
And once again they heard her say, 
With accent soft and motion gay : 
" En verite ! En verite ! 

Je sais que ce n'est pas poli — 
Peut-on me blamer si je ris ? " 

Three little maidens, side by side, 

Sat down and laughed until they cried, 

And cried until they laughed again ; 

" Ach, ach, ich kann dich nicht versteh'n ! ' 
Uproarious burst the old refrain, 

" Tell me your name, and I '11 tell mine," 
Cried Cora Dora Waterpine, 

" En verite ! En verite ! " 

It might have lasted all the day, 
But such confusion breeding there, 
There came a sudden deep despair — 

With fingers in their ears, they say, 
Three little maidens ran away. 

Vol. VIII.— 33. 





By Mrs. Oliphant. 

'hen the morning dawned, 
and the king, miserable 
wretch that he was, the poor 
traitor and murderer Darn- 
ley, went into Mary's room, 
she began at once the new 
part which she felt it neces- 
sary to play. She humbled her- 
self before him, flattered him 
and roused his pity, and grad- 
ually recovered her influence 
over him by a show of false 
friendliness and assumed affec- 
which she did not feel, and 
which it was scarcely possible that she 
could feel. At last she worked upon 
him so far that he undertook, with the 
conspirators, to answer for her that she would not 
punish them for what they had done, but would sign 
an indemnity and pardon, and forget all that had 
occurred, if they would withdraw and leave her un- 
disturbed. They consented to do so reluctantly, 
with very little faith in the promises made them, 
feeling themselves betrayed as Mary had been, and 
by the same hand. It was on the Saturday evening 
that Rizzio had been murdered. On Monday Ruth- 
ven and all the rest withdrew from Holyrood sullenly 
with their men, leaving Mary under the guardianship 
of her false and foolish husband. At midnight, on 
the same night, her bold heart revived by the first 
chance of liberty, Mary left the defenseless walls 
of Holyrood, and, accompanied by Darnley and 
the captain of her guard, rode oft" secretly, flying 
through the dark and cold March night to the 
castle of Dunbar. She was in delicate health, and 
she must have been terribly shaken by these events, 
but she was one of those people whose spirits rise 
to every danger, and whom no bodily depression 
can daunt or hinder. Fancy her riding through 
the night, along the rough roads, with the traitor 
husband by her side, whom she could not forgive, 
yet pretended to regard with unchanged affection. 
Mary, however, was soon at the head of public 
affairs once more. She called her faithful nobles 
about her at Dunbar, and quickly collected an army. 

before which the conspirators fled, and she once 
more entered Edinburgh in triumph. Then Darnley 
covered himself with greater shame than before. 
He published a proclamation declaring he had had 
nothing to do with "the late cruel murder com- 
mitted in presence of the Queen's majesty," swear- 
ing on his honor as a prince that he never knew 
of it, or assisted, or approved. It would seem that 
he deceived Mary by this protestation, and that she 
was disposed to believe him ; but his fellow-con- 
spirators were so indignant that they sent to her 
bonds which he had signed, containing the bargain 
between them ; which was, that they should bestow 
the royal power upon him, if he helped them in 
the murder of Rizzio. After this discovery, Mary 
had no pity for Darnley. She turned away from 
him, and would hold no intercourse with him. He 
was scorned and shunned by everybody. Though 
he was called king, he was left alone wherever he 
went, and was despised by all. 

A few months later, their only child, James, who 
was afterward James VI. of Scotland, and I. of 
England, was born in a little room in Stirling 
Castle. It was a strongly fortified place, and only 
in such a castle could the Queen of Scotland hope 
to be safe, she and her baby, from the fierce bands 
that were roaming the country. Armed men, 
angry faces, and drawn swords might soon have 
surrounded her if she had been in the more com- 
modious rooms of Holyrood. 

Stirling Castle is built on a rock, in the midst 
of a beautiful valley ; the mountains round about 
are blue and beautiful, and the Links of Forth, the 
windings of the silvery river, flow away through 
rich levels to the sea. There could not be a place 
more beautiful in a June morning like that on 
which the little prince was born. He was to be 
the successor of both the queens who then were 
reigning within the British seas, and the greatest 
monarch of his name ; but he was born in a 
little bare room of the great, stern castle, with a 
gray precipice of rock below; and with soldiers 
at their posts, and warders looking out from 
the walls to see that no fierce army was coming 
against them to disturb the rest, or, perhaps, 
take away the liberty or the life of the mother 
and child. It was not a safe lot in those days 
to be a queen. But I think, on the whole, Mary, 
with her high spirit and her love of adventure, 
took more pleasure in all those risks, defying her 
nobles, heading her army, sometimes flying, some- 
times conquering, always in danger and excitement, 



than if she had lived safely and splendidly all her 
life, and never known what trouble was. 

Now, however, all was dark and terrible before 
this unhappy queen. Not long before, she had 
recalled from exile a young nobleman, James Hep- 
burn, Earl of Bothwell. He was a man as brave 
and daring as herself, fond of pleasure as she was, 
full of resolution and boldness, — not a weak youth, 
like Darnley, but a bold and strong man. 

And here begins the question which has dis- 
turbed historians ever since, and still makes people 
angry in argument, almost as ready to fight for 
Mary, or against her, as when she was a living 
woman. Some say that Mary and Bothwell loved 
each other, and that from this time it became the 
great object of both to get rid of Darnley, in order 
that they rnight marry; while others tell us that 
Mary was innocent both of loving Bothwell and of 
desiring to procure her husband's removal, and 
that it was Bothwell alone who was guilty. I can 
not clear up this question for you. I do not think 
Mary was innocent ; and yet I can not believe that 
she was so guilty as some think her. 

One thing we may be sure of is, that she was 
very unhappy. It was impossible for a woman such 
as she was to do anything but despise the weak- 
minded, cowardly young man who had betrayed 
and deceived both her and his own friends. She 
had made a terrible mistake in her marriage, and 
she knew not how to mend it. "I could wish 
to be dead," she said, again and again, at this ter- 
rible time. Once, the trouble in her mind really 
brought on a violent illness, in which she thought 
she was dying. All her friends gathered round her 
sick chamber in deep anxiety, and her husband 
was sent for ; but Darnley did not come until she 
was out of danger, and then only for a single night. 
She was left alone, as far as he was concerned, to 
bear the struggle in her own breast and everywhere 
around her. Even when she received the embas- 
sadors, they would find her weeping, and nothing 
seems to have roused her from her melancholy. 

Then her nobles, among whom were some of 
the conspirators she had pardoned, — the very men 
who had killed Rizzio, but who had made their 
submission, and had been allowed to return to their 
places, — began to pity the unhappy queen ; and 
there was a proposal made to her to get a divorce, 
and so be free of the husband who was her worst 
enemy. She did not accept this proposal, but 
neither did she reject it. " Better permit the mat- 
ter to remain as it is, abiding till God, in his good- 
ness, put remedy thereto," she said. Perhaps she 
meant only what she said ; but perhaps Mary knew 
that there were plots going on which were more 
of the devil than of God. And the fierce nobles 
about her, who thought no more of the life of a 

man than sportsmen do of a deer's, were not likely 
to hesitate about a murder. Bothwell was her 
chief counselor, the boldest and fiercest of all; and 
whether it be true or not that she loved him, it is 
certain that he loved her, and was ready to risk 
everything for the hope of marrying her. 

There are a number of letters, which were 
found afterward in a casket, and are always called 
the casket letters, from which the chief evidence 
against Mary is taken. They are supposed to have 
been written by her to Bothwell. If they are true, 
then she knew all that was going on, and meant 
her husband to be killed ; but many people do not 
believe them to be true. I am afraid I am one of 
those who do believe in them. They are full of 
misery and sorrow, yet of n wild love that pushes 
the writer on when her better self draws her back. 
" I am horrified to play the part of a traitress! " — 
" I would rather die than commit these things ! " — 
"My heart bleeds to do them!" — "God forgive 
me ! " she writes. Though these letters are full of 
the most wicked purpose, you could scarcely help 
being sorry for the wretched lady who wrote them, 
and whose heart and life, you could see, were torn 
in two. But I must not say more about this, for it 
is too difficult a question for you or for me. There 
are some very good authorities, and very able 
judges, who think these letters are forgeries, and 
were not written by Mary at all. 

But this is the history that followed : Darnley fell 
ill at Glasgow, where he then was. He had small- 
pox, which, you know, is a dangerous and dreadful 
disease. Mary had been altogether estranged from 
him, and had not seen him for a long time ; but 
when he was getting better she went to him sud- 
denly, without any warning, sat by his bedside, 
talked to him of all the complaints they had, one 
against the other, explained her own conduct to 
him, accepted, or pretended to accept, his explana- 
tions on his side, and, in short, became reconciled 
to her husband. It was a thing no one had hoped 
for, or thought possible ; but so it was. They 
mutually promised to each other that all was to be 
with them as at first, as soon as Darnley should be 
well enough to resume his usual life.,'^ In the 
interval, he was to be brought back to Edin- 
burgh, but not to Holyrood, lest the little prince 
should take small-pox from his father. This made 
it appear quite natural that Darnley should have 
a house prepared for him in an airy and open 
place, just outside the gates of Edinburgh. The 
place was called the Kirk of Field, and several 
people of rank had houses there, with gardens, in 
the fresh air outside the smoke of the town. 

The strange thing about it was that the house 
selected was a small and unimportant one ; but 
excuses were made for this, and the queen herself 




went there to receive her husband, and remained 
with him for a day or two, occupying rooms no better 
than his. The house belonged to a dependent of 
Bothwell's. Mary slept in a room immediately below 
that of her husband, with a staircase between them, 
which was left open and unprotected. For was not 
the queen the guardian of the invalid ? 

One night, the Sunday after his arrival, Mary, 
who was with Darnley, suddenly recollected that 
she must go back to Holyrood, to the marriage 
supper of one of her servants. She had either for- 
gotten it or pretended to have forgotten it till the 
last moment, and she and her train of attendants 
then swept away, leaving the sick man lonely and 
alarmed in his room with his page. Down-stairs, 
in the room which Mary ought to have occupied, 
her bed had been pushed out of the way, and 
heaps of gunpowder laid in its place. 

What happened in the darkness of that night is 
imperfectly known. Darnley was a wretched 
creature, not much worthy of pity, but when you 
think of him there in that desolate room all alone, 
with only one poor page to take care of him, sick 
and weak, and full of fears, you will be sorry for the 
unhappy young man. It is said that the two 
doomed creatures read the 55 th Psalm together, 
before they went to bed. Do you remember that 
psalm ? " Fearfulness and trembling are come upon 
me. The fear of death has fallen upon me. It is 
not an open enemy that has done me this dishonor ; 
but it was even thou, my companion." Perhaps, 
as they read it, they heard the heavy steps below, 
the rustle of the powder emptied out of the bags. 
A number of Bothwell's men were in full possession 
of the house, occupying the room which Mary had 
left vacant. Darnley went to bed and fell asleep, 
with these enemies under the same roof; but woke 
by and by, and stumbled to the door in the dark- 
ness, where he was seized and strangled, he and 
his page, and their bodies were thrown into the 
garden. Then there was a blaze of light, an ex- 
plosion, and the house was blown up to conceal the 
secret crime. But the bodies were found unharmed 
next morning, notwithstanding this precaution ; 
the secret was not one that could be hid. 

You may imagine what a tumult and confusion 
was in Edinburgh next morning, when the dreadful 
news was known. Everybody had heard the ex- 
plosion, and the people were wild with excitement. 
Mary shut herself up in Holyrood. as if over- 
whelmed with grief, and saw nobody but Bothwell, 
to whom every suspicion pointed as the murderer. 

If she were really innocent, it is impossible to 
understand her conduct at this time. While the 
town was ringing with this one subject, and the 
names of the conspirators were bandied about from 
mouth to mouth, she took no steps against any of 

them, and kept Bothwell, the chief of them, con- 
stantly with her. In a little while she went out of 
Edinburgh to Seton Castle, the house of Lord 
Seton, one of her most faithful servants, and there 
recovered her gayety all at once, and resumed her 
favorite amusements, — Bothwell always remaining 
with her, her companion and closest counselor. 
Edinburgh, meanwhile, was wild with horror and 
rage, putting up placards in the streets, with the 
names of the murderers, and beginning to suspect 
and to loathe the queen also, who had been so 
much loved in her capital. This horror and 
suspicion ran like fire through all the courts of 
Europe. Wherever the story was told, Mary was 
suspected. Everywhere, from England, from 
France, from her own kingdom, entreaties came to 
her to investigate the murder, and_ bring the 
murderers to justice. But time went on, and she 
did nothing : she who had been so energetic, so 
prompt and rapid in action. It was not until a 
month after that she would do anything. Then 
there was a mock trial of Bothwell, before a jury of 
his partisans, where no one dared to bring evidence 
against him, and he was acquitted shamefully. 

After this trial, the course of events was very 
rapid. Three months after Darnley's death, Mary 
married his murderer. In the interval, she had 
been like a creature in a dream, and all that 
happened to her was feverish and unreal. To veil 
the haste and horror of the marriage, Bothwell pre- 
tended to carry her off by force, and the nobles of 
his party advised and urged her to marry him; but 
these were things which deceived nobody at the 
time. The two had scarcely been separate since 
the moment of Darnley's death, and no one doubted 
what their intention was. One of Mary's most 
devoted friends, Lord Hemes, took a long journey 
to entreat her on his knees not to take this step, 
which would convince all Europe of her guilt. But 
no argument had any effect upon her. She had 
taken her own way and done her own will all her 
life hitherto, without much harm ; but the same 
rule was her destruction now. 

Poor Mary ! She was as much disappointed in 
Bothwell as she had been in Darnley. The one 
was too feeble and too fickle to be worth her con- 
sideration, the other was harsh and cruel, and 
treated her like a master from their wedding-day. 
" She desires only death," the French embassador 
says ; ' ' ever since the day after her marriage she 
has passed her time in nothing but tears and 
lamentations." And now everybody was against 
her, — Elizabeth of England, the king of France, all 
her relations and allies ; and, within a month, all 
Scotland was roused in horror of her and her new 
husband. She summoned her forces round her, 
an appeal which always, heretofore, had placed 




her at the head of a gallant arm)' ; but this time 
no one heeded the summons ; and she had to flee 
in disguise from one castle to another, in order to 
escape the hands of her revolted nobles. To give 
a color to their rebellion, they represented Mary as 
being " detained in captivity " by Bothwell, so that 
she was "neither able to govern her realm, nor try 
the murderer of her husband." How many then, 
and how many even now, would be glad to believe 
that this was the case ! In June, Bothwell and she 
together managed to collect a little army, quite 
unable to cope with that of the indignant nobles. 
They met at Carberry Hill, but the queen's little 
force melted away before the other army, and she 
was left at last with a forlorn guard of sixty gentle- 
men, who would not forsake her. Then Bothwell 
and she had a last interview apart. They took 
leave of each other "with great anguish and 
grief" ; they had been a month married, and it 
was for this that the)' had shown themselves 
monsters of falsehood and cruelty before all the 
world. They parted there and then for the last 
time. Bothwell rode away with half a dozen fol- 
lowers, and Mary gave herself up into the hands of 
those nobles who had opposed her so often, who 
had been overcome so often by her, but who now 
were the victors in their turn. 

You must remember, however, that though these 
nobles had justice on their side, this had not been 
always the case, nor was it the first time that a 
Stuart had been a prisoner in their hands. Almost 
all her forefathers had known what it was, like 
Mary, to struggle with this fierce nobility, often for 
selfish, but sometimes, too, for noble ends. But now 
the people, as well as the nobles, were against her. 
They waved before her eyes a banner on which 
was painted a picture of the slain Darnley, with 
the baby prince kneeling beside him and praying : 
"Avenge my cause, oh Lord!"; they hooted her 
in the streets ; they had adored her, and now they 
turned upon her. She was taken to Holyrood, not 
as a queen, but as a criminal, surrounded by 
frowning faces and cries of insult. Thence she was 
sent a prisoner to the castle of Lochleven; Loch- 
leven is a lake in Fife, full of little islands. On one 
of these there was a monastery, on another a little 
castle. The island was just big enough to make a 
green inclosure, a little garden round the old walls, 
now in ruin. Low hills stretch round, and, except- 
ing in summer, the landscape is dreary and stormy. 
The house was small, with narrow, bare rooms, 
and shut round by the waters of the lake, which is, 
at times, almost as rough as the sea. Here Mary 
was placed in the most rigorous confinement. She 
had two of her ladies with her to take the place of 
the gay court and all its amusements, and she was 
not allowed to step forth once from this prison, nor 

to send letters, nor to receive them. No imprison- 
ment could have been more rigid or more hard. 
She was but twenty-five, most beautiful, most fas- 
cinating and accomplished ; the fairest queen in 
Europe, the admired of the whole world. 

What a bitter change from all her mirth and 
amusements, her gay and free life, her royal inde- 
pendence and supremacy ! Do you not say "poor 
Mary ! " notwithstanding all the wrong she had 
done ? And can you wonder that those who thought 
she had done no wrong (and there are many still 
who do), those who think she was only imprudent, 
and that she had been forced to marry Bothwell, 
and knew nothing about Darnley's death ? — can 
you wonder that they are still almost ready to 
weep over Mary's sufferings, though they have 
been over these three hundred years ? She lived 
for twenty years after this, but, excepting for a very 
brief interval, was never out of prison again. Nor 
did she ever again see Bothwell, for whom she had 
suffered so much. 

You will find the story of the queen's captivity in 
Lochleven in one of Sir Walter Scott's novels called 
"The Abbot." No one else could give you such 
an idea of what that was, and what Mary was. Sir 
Walter loved the Stuarts, and persuaded himself 
that Mary had not done much wrong. In his 
description, you will see her at the best, most win- 
ning, most charming, with her sympathetic mind 
and her beautiful smile, and the kindness which 
made people love her, and the wit which made them 
fear her. If you read it, you will be angry with all of 
us who do not believe in Mary ; and, when I read 
it, I should like to forget that miserable Darnley, 
and try to think what a woman she might have 
been had she married a man who was her equal, or 
had she been like her cousin Elizabeth, wise and 
crafty and clever, and never married at all. 

She remained about a year in Lochleven, suffer- 
ing all kinds of indignities ; was forced to sign her 
abdication, and was allowed no communication 
with her friends save when she could, by elaborate 
artifices, elude the vigilance of her jailers ; but at 
last, in May, 1568, she escaped with one small 
page, a boy of sixteen, who rowed her across the 
lake to where her friends awaited her. 

In a moment she was again the Mary of old, 
with courage undaunted, and hope that was above 
all her troubles. She rode all through the summer 
night to Niddry Castle, knowing neither fatigue nor 
fear; and there issued a proclamation, and called, 
as so often before, her nobles round her. This 
time many answered the call, and she was soon 
riding in high hope at the head of a little army. 
But the Regent Murray, on the other side, — who 
was a wise and great statesman, — collecting a large 
force, hurried after her, and at once gave battle. 




Soon, it became apparent that Mary's day was over. 
Her army was defeated, her followers dispersed. 
She herself, thinking it better to take refuge with 
her cousin Elizabeth, in England, than to fall once 
more into the hands of her enemies at home, 
crossed the Border, and there ended all her hopes. 

She was promised hospitality and help. She 
found a prison, or rather a succession of prisons, 
and death. She thought she was to be received by 
Elizabeth herself, but, on the contrary, she was 
removed from one castle to another, from one set 
of keepers to another, and never was admitted to 
the presence of the Queen of England. I have not 
space to tell you all the story of her long bondage. 
All the events of her life which I have told you 
occupied scarcely ten years. 

For twenty years longer she lived a prisoner, 
and if I were to tell you about all the schemes on 
her behalf, and all the plots that were thought 
of, and how many times she was to have 
made a new marriage and begun a new life, I 
should want a whole book to do it in. 

But all Mary's schemes and hopes were now in 
vain. For she had Elizabeth to deal with, who was 
stronger than she was, and she had no loyal and 
loving nation behind her, but only enemies and 
stern judges wherever she turned. She was never 
free of guards and spies and jailers, who watched 
everything she did, and reported it all to the 
English queen. 

You must remember, at the same time, that it was 
very difficult for the English government to know 
what to do with this imprisoned queen. Had 
Elizabeth died, Mary was the next heir, and she 
was a woman accused by her own subjects of terri- 
ble crimes. And she was a Catholic, who would 
have thrown the whole country into commotion, 
and risked everything to restore the Catholic faith. 
If they had let her go free, she would have raised 
the Continent and all the Catholic powers against 
the peace of England. In every way she was a 
danger. What was to be done with this woman, 
who was braver and stronger and more full of 
resources than almost any other of her time? They 
could not break her spirit nor quench her courage, 
whatever they did. They moved her from one 
castle to another, and gave to one unfortunate 
gentleman after another the charge of keeping her 
in safety. Some men who loved her and took up 
her cause, had to die for it. And every year she 
lived was a new danger, a continued difficulty. 
At last, after twenty years, Elizabeth pronounced 
against this dangerous guest, this heiress whom she 
feared, this cousin whom she had never seen. 

Mary was removed to Fotheringay Castle, in 
Northamptonshire, and there tried for conspiring 
against Elizabeth, and trying to embroil the 

kingdom. She was found guilty, and, indeed, it 
was true enough that she had conspired, and en- 
deavored, with every instrument she could lay her 
hand on, to get her freedom. She was left alone to 
defend herself against all the great lawyers and 
judges brought against her — one woman among all 
these ruthless men. Even her papers were taken 
from her, and nothing was heard in her favor 
excepting what her own dauntless voice could say. 
She was as brave then, and as full of dignity and 
majesty, as when all the world was at her feet. But 
her condemnation was decided on, whatever there 
might have been to say for her. She appealed to 
the queen ; but of all unlikely things there was 
none so unlikely as that Elizabeth should consent to 
see or hear her kinswoman. After her condemna- 
tion, however, a considerable time elapsed before 
Elizabeth would give the final order for her execu- 
tion. It was sent at last, arriving suddenly one 
morning in the gloomy month of February. 

Nothing is more noble and touching than the 
story of her end. The sweet and gracious and 
tender Mary of Scotland, who had taken all hearts 
captive, seemed to have come back again for that 
conclusion ; her gayety all gone, but none of her 
sweetness, nor the grace and kindness and courtesy 
of her nature. She thought of every one as she 
stood there smiling and looking death in the face ; 
made her will, provided for her poor servants who 
loved her, sent tender messages to her friends, 
and then laid down her beautiful head, still 
beautiful, through all those years and troubles, 
upon the block, and died. It was on the 8th of 
February, 1587, almost on the twentieth anniversary 
of that cruel murder of her husband, which had 
been the beginning of all her woes. 

Thus died one of the most beautiful and re- 
nowned, one of the ablest and bravest, and perhaps 
the most unfortunate, beyond comparison, of 
queens. A queen in her cradle, an orphan from her 
youth, every gift of fortune bestowed upon her, but 
no happiness, no true guidance, no companion in 
her life. The times in which she was born, and the 
training she had, and the qualities she inherited, 
may account for many of her faults ; but nothing 
can ever take away the interest with which people 
hear of her, and see her pictures, and read her 
story. Had she been a spotless and true woman, 
she might have been one of the greatest in history; 
but in this, as in everything else, what is evil crushes 
and ruins what is great. As it is, no one can think 
of Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, but with interest 
and sympathy, and there are many in the world, 
and especially in Scotland, who even now, three 
hundred years after her death, are almost as ready 
to fight for her as were the men among whom she 
lived and on whom she smiled. 





By Henry Clemens Pearson. 

" There 'S a new stone just been put into the 
grindin'-room, an' Thompson says that some one 
will have to be taught to run it." 

The superintendent of the File Works looked up 
from his paper at the speaker, and a smile broke 
over his face as he scanned the grotesque figure be- 
fore him. It was a boy of thirteen, who seemed to 
have been suddenly plunged up to the neck in a 
pair of men's overalls. His sleeves were rolled up, 
and the small arms had tide marks around the 
wrists, showing how high the water rose when he 
washed his hands. A similar mark encircled his 
neck. A square paper-cap adorned his head. 
There was an air of anxiety about him that at 
once fixed the attention of his listener, who said : 

" Well, did your foreman send you to me to ask 
who should do it?" 

"No, sir," was the reply. "I thought that as 
long as some one must get it, perhaps 't would be 
me. 'T would be a savin' to the company, 'cause 
I know how to run it a'ready, and any other fellow 
would have to be taught." 

"Can you grind a file now?" asked the super- 
intendent, in a tone of surprise, and eyeing the lad 
as if doubtful of his skill. 

"Yes, sir. Old Sunset said I could grind small 
files better than the Englishman that 's doin' it on 
Number Three." 

Half a dozen files lay upon a paper on the office 
table. The gentleman pointed to them, saying : 




" See if you can detect flaws in any of these." 

The boy took them one by one, and, holding 
them deftly between thumb and finger, struck the 
•' tang " a ringing blow upon the iron radiator. 

Five of them rung as clear as silver bells ; the 
sixth had a slight jar in its music. The boy rang 
it again. 

"That one 's cracked," he said. 

He next took them one by one, and, holding them 
up to the light, looked into the lines of parallel 
grooves. He laid two more beside the cracked 
one, and, pointing to the others, said : 

" Those are perfect." 

"What is the matter with those two beside the 
cracked one ? " was the question. 

" They wer' n't ground true." 

" How do you know?" 

" Well, ye see," said the little fellow, assuming, 
unconsciously, the important air of an experienced 
workman, — "ye see, when ye look through the 
grooves they all ought to look dark and nice, but 
there arc light streaks in some of these. Now, this 
is an awful pretty file," he continued, taking up 
a perfect one; "just as good a piece of work as 
ever was done in this place ! " 

" I suppose if you got this job you could afford 
to use more tobacco, and drive a better team on 
Sundays ? " 

" I s'pose I could," said the boy, "only I don't 
happen to use tobacco, sir, an' a fellow like me, 
that has a sick mother an' seven young ones to 
help along, is n't apt to hanker after top-buggies 
on Sundays." 

" Send Old Sunset here," said the gentleman, 
turning to his desk with a smile. 

The boy departed, and soon a tall, raw-boned 
Scotchman, wearing a pair of immense green 
glasses, entered the room. 

" McFadden," said the superintendent, "do you 
know a boy named Will Storrs, who runs a truck 
from the annealing-room ? " 

"Wull Storrs ?" was the deliberate reply. "Wull 
Storrs? I ken a lad named Wull, but I dinna ken 
what his surname may be." 

"This is a little fellow about thirteen, who looks 
as if he wore his grandfather's overalls." 

"Oh, aye — I ken him weel ; but ye 're wrong 
aboot the overalls bein' his grandfeyther's. They 
belonged to mysel', but were too sma', so I sold 
them to him for fufteen cents, simply to make him 
feel that they were not a gift, ye ken." 

"What kind of a workman is he?" 

"The verra best. There 's not a job that he lays 
hand on but he can do as weel as any aboot the 
eestablishmunt. " 

"Could he learn to grind small files, do you 
think ?" was the next query. 

"Lerrn? He kens the whole notion already. 
One mornin', when most o' the grinders were oot 
on a spree, he took one o' the worst stanes in the 
room, and dressed it sae weel that ye could na' tal 
whether it was going or stoppit, when it was run- 
ning at full speed ! " 

"Well, I think he can be trusted to run Number 
Eight, then. He might just as well commence 
now. Suppose you tell him that he can spend the 
rest of the day in dressing the stone, and getting 
ready to grind small files and cutters to-morrow." 

Will was standing in the door-way of the grind- 
ing-room when the Scotchman delivered his mes- 
sage. The news seemed too good to be true. To 
run Number Eight ! That meant a dollar and a 
half a day, — perhaps more, for the grinders all 
worked by the piece. His mother would be able 
to have her washing done for her, after this, and 
his brothers and sisters could go to school looking 
as if they belonged to somebody. 

The grinding-room was long and narrow, iron- 
roofed and well lighted. Twelve grindstones stood 
side by side, with only passage-ways between them. 
These massive stones, some weighing several tons, 
were monsters compared with the grindstones that 
are frequently seen on the farms, or in the machine- 
shops. When they were all in motion, each with 
a man sitting on a small wooden saddle above his 
stone, it seemed to an outsider as if twelve men al- 
ways abreast were racing on twelve stone bicycles. 

Will's Number Eight was one of the largest 
stones in the room, and thought to be the best. 
After he had told the foreman of his good luck, he 
took some pieces of charcoal, a blunt chisel, and a 
kind of steel adz, and, climbing into the saddle, 
set the great stone in motion. Resting his hands 
on the pommel of the saddle, he held a piece of 
charcoal toward the stone, moving it nearer till 
the first rough bumps on its wide face were black- 
ened ; then he threw off the belt,' and cut down 
these blackened places with the adz. Starting 
the great wheel again, he let it turn for a while 
against the blunt chisel, after which he again 
tried the charcoal. It was hard work — the adz 
was heavy, the chisel would "gouge" a little 
when his hands grew tired ; but he kept at it, and, 
some time before the whistle sounded for noon, the 
charcoal made an even black line around the whole 

Old Sunset, who ran a " donkey grinder " on the 
stone next to Will's, told him that it was "weel 
dune," which meant that it was perfect. 

The boy, indeed, felt proud of his work, as, 
standing a little way off, he looked at the beautiful 
proportions of the revolving stone. As there was 
still a part of the day remaining, Will began to get 
the tools and fixtures necessary in file-grinding. 



A half barrel of lime and oil was obtained, in 
whieh to thrust the files when ground, to keep them 
from rusting". This he mounted upon a stand 
within easy reach. He next went to the office and 
got a set of " file-grinder's " tools, the most impor- 


tant of which were a level and a square, both very 
small, and made purposely for this work. These 
he put in the little case that hung on his saddle. 

He tried the water and found that it was all right. 
Everything was ready. Old Sunset had given him 
a pair of " thumb-cots," in case his hand came in 
contact with the stone, and one of the other grinders 

made him a present of a pair of leather stirrups, to 
keep the slate-colored mud from his shoes. The boy 
was fully equipped, and fairly aching to begin 
work, when the "speed " slackened and the whistle 
blew, which signaled that the day's work was over. 
The next morning Will was 
promptly on hand, eager to begin 
the day's toil, but an unexpected 
obstacle presented itself. An ac- 
cident had happened in the 
" annealing shop," and there 
were no files ready to be ground. 
Old Sunset and most of the other 
workmen took it easily, and saun- 
tered off; but Will was too much 
excited to do any such thing. He 
staid by his stone, started it 
half a dozen times to see if it was 
still true, looked over his tools, 
tried the saddle, put on the 
thumb-cots, and finally wandered 
away to watch the annealers. 
Had he known who was standing 
behind the next stone, jealously 
watching his every motion, he 
would never have left Number 
Eight with no friend to protect it. 
As soon as Will was fairly out 
of sight, the watcher stealthily 
advanced to Number Eight. 

He was a red-headed, thick-set 
boy, about Will's age, and his 
inveterate enemy. The news of 
Will's good luck had been more 
than his jealous nature could 
bear, and he was going to have 
some sort of revenge. After look- 
ing cautiously around, he clam- 
bered awkwardly into the saddle, 
and set the big stone in motion. 
It almost frightened him to have 
the great smooth wheel turning 
so swiftly close between his knees. 
He felt as if he were going , to 
topple over upon the monster. 
The first dizzy feeling, however, 
passed away in a moment, and 
he looked about him for means to 
injure the smooth surface that 
Will Storrs had labored so hard and 
so skillfully throughout the previous day to obtain. 
At his right, on a frail stand, lay the blunt chisel. 
He took it and struck the whirling stone repeated 
blows with the instrument. Growing bolder, he 
laid the chisel across the "rest," and, pressing its 
edge against the stone, cut out great uneven 
patches, till its circumference began to have a wavy 




appearance, even at the high speed at which it was 

But the boy was not satisfied yet, so he held the 
sharp corner of the chisel firmly against the stone, 
making parallel grooves a quarter of an inch deep 
throughout the whole surface. 

Just as the young rascal had given the finishing 
touch to this piece of malice, Will, coming slowly in 
from the annealing-room, saw the red head bend- 
ing over his stone, and heard the sharp "scratch" 
of the chisel. 

Uttering a shout, he darted forward. But another 
avenger was before him. 

The giant stone, as if unable to bear longer the 
mutilations and torture of the young vandal, gave 
a strange, rending roar, and, tearing itself free from 
the whirling shaft, sent one-half of its mighty 
body crashing through the iron roof. An instant 
later, a dull thud in the yard told where it had 
fallen. The other half crushed its way through 
the water-soaked planking, and lay buried in the 

The whole thing happened in an instant. The 
stone and its fixtures were blotted out so suddenly 
that Will was dazed. He hardly knew what was 
the matter ; but others did. The same rending 
noise had been heard before, and the word went 
around that a stone had burst. 

Within a few seconds the door-way was thronged 
with men. Will was pushed forward by the eager, 
questioning crowd till he stood close to the wreck. 
The wooden saddle lay shivered in pieces some feet 
from the place. Around the jagged hole in the 
roof were great spatters of oily lime, and the tools 
had been flung in all directions. But where was 
the boy who had been on the stone ? 

In the sudden mist of flying objects, Will had 
lost sight of him. A moaning cry, and a rush of 
feet to the other side of Old Sunset's stone, told 
where he was. 

Will caught a glimpse of a pale face; then, as the 
crowd opened a little, he could distinctly see his 
enemy lying across a pile of unground " saw-files." 
One of the workmen lifted him up, and, as he did 
so, a shudder ran through the crowd : three great 
saw-files had cruelly torn and wounded the limp 
figure. He was laid upon a table, the sharp 
"tangs" were pulled out, and the blood was 
stanched. Finally a faint color came back to the 
pale face, and consciousness returned, but only to 
bring with it exquisite suffering. A physician 
being called, the wounded boy was sent off to 
the hospital. 

Gradually the hands settled back to their work, 
the grinders feeling especially sober. The machin- 
ery resumed its clatter and whirl, the great black 

cogs buffeted each other as usual, and the accident 
began to fade from the memories of the men. 

A new stone was rolled in and named Number 
Eight. A new set of tools came from the office, 
another saddle was built, and Will began his busi- 
ness afresh. He soon was considered one of the 
best grinders in the room. 

One day, some months later, as he was grinding 
busily, a boy entered the room on crutches. 

The men did not recognize him. He halted by 
Will's stone, and looked up. As soon as he had 
finished the file upon which he was at work, Will 
threw off the belt, leaped down, and grasped the 
other's hand. 

"Why, Tom," he said, " I 'm very glad you 're 
back. When did you leave the city ? " 

"Last night," said the boy. Then, conquering 
a little choke, he said : "I treated you very badly, 
Will, an' I 've thought of it a heap since I 've 
been laid up. So I thought I 'd like to give you 
something, — this is the only thing that I had. A 
good old sailor uncle o' mine gave it to me when J 
was a little chap. He said it had been picked up 
from a wreck, and was a queer, risky thing, and he 
promised to show me how to fire it. But he was 
drowned off the coast afore he had a chance to 
keep his promise, and mother 's made me save it 
as kind o' sacred ever since. But this mornin' she 
told me I could give it to you for a keepsake, if I 
was so set on givin' you something." 

He thrust a small package into Will's hand, and 
hobbled off. 

Will untied it in amazement, and found a piece 
of iron pipe, an inch and a half in diameter, 
mounted on a curiously caned wooden block. It 
was a queer sort of a toy cannon. He examined 
the breech. It was made of a piece of lead, 
which was pounded into one end of the pipe and 
smoothed over ; a small touch-hole had been 
drilled below the leaden plug, j, 

Old Sunset came up just then, and Will showed 
him the gift. The Scotchman looked it all over 
carefully, saying : 

" Wull ye stand in front or behind it when ye 
fire it off, lad ? " 

" Behind, of course ! " 

" Aye ! so I thocht. Ye '11 stand behind it and 
catch the leeden plug, na doot. " 

"Do you think it will blow out?" asked Will. 

" Of course it wull. The lad that gave it ye 
did na' ken it, probably, and na doot he would 
hae fired it himsel' without thinkin'. So you can 
hae the satisfaction o' feelin' that while he once 
saved you from injury by accident, now you save 
him from being blown up by a cannon that shoots 
baith ways at once." 







By George Newell Lovejoy. 

I WONDERED what made Robin sad, 

Out on the garden wall ; 
Though Spring in loveliness was clad, 

He could not sing at all. 

I did not know, until too late, 
Why joy had gone away 

From Robin and his little mate, 
On that sweet morn in May ; 

Above him, in the flower-blown tree, 
With drooping head and wing. 

Sat his dear mate, as sad as he, 
With never a note to sing. 

Until I found upon the grass, 
Ah, mournful sight to see ! — 

A fair young red-breast dead, alas ! 
Beneath the flower-blown tree. 

5 2 4 




By Daniel C. Beard. 

"A SOAP-BUBBLE" is an uncouth, inelegant 
name for such an ethereal fairy sphere. It is such 
a common, every-day sight to us, we seldom give 
it much attention, or realize how wonderful and 
beautiful is this fragile, transparent, liquid globe. 
Its spherical form is typical of perfection, and the 
ever-changing, prismatic colors of its iridescent 
surface charm the eye. 

It is like a beautiful dream; we are entranced 
while it lasts, but in an instant it vanishes, and 
leaves nothing to mark its former existence except- 
ing the memory of its loveliness. 

Few persons can stand by and watch another 
blowing bubbles without being seized with an uncon- 
trollable desire to blow one for themselves. There 
is a peculiar charm or pleasure in the very act. 
which few persons who have known it ever outgrow. 

In the accompanying illustration are shown sev- 
eral kinds of soap-bubbles and a variety of ways 
of deriving amusement from them. 

It is generally known that a bubble will burst if 
it touch any hard or smooth surface, but upon the 
carpet or a woolen cloth it will roll or bounce 

If you take advantage of this fact, you can with 
a woolen cloth make bubbles dance and fly around 
as lively as a juggler's gilt balls, and you will be 
astonished to find what apparent rough handling 
these fragile bubbles will stand when you are care- 
ful not to allow them to touch anything but the 
woolen cloth. 

It may be worth remarking that the coarser the 
soap the brighter the bubbles will be. The com- 
pound known as "'soft soap" is the best for the 

One of the pictures shows how to transform your 
soap-bubble into an aerial vapor-balloon. 

If you wish to try this pretty experiment, procure 
a rubber tube, say a yard long, and with an aper- 
ture small enough to require considerable stretch- 
ing to force it over the gas-burner. After you 
have stretched one end so as to fit tightly over the 
burner, wrap the stem of a clay pipe with wet 
paper, and push it into the other end of the tube, 
where it must fit so as to allow no gas to escape. 
Dip the bowl of your pipe in the suds and turn the 
gas on ; the force of the gas will be sufficient to 

blow your bubble for you, and as the gas is lighter 
than the air, your bubble, when freed from the 
pipe, will rapidly ascend, and never stop in its 
upward course until it perishes. 

Another group in our picture illustrates how old 
Uncle Enos, an aged negro down in Kentucky, 
used to amuse the children by making smoke- 

Did you ever sec smoke-bubbles ? In one the 
white-blue smoke, in beautiful curves, will curl and 
circle under its crystal shell. Another will possess 
a lovely opalescent pearly appearance, and if one be 
thrown from the pipe while quite small and densely 
filled with smoke, it will appear like an opaque 
polished ball of milky whiteness. It is always a 
great frolic for the children when Jhey catch Uncle 
Enos smoking his corn-cob pipe. They gather 
around his knee with their bowl of soap-suds and 
bubble-pipe, and while the good-natured old man 
takes a few lusty whiffs from his corn-cob, and fills 
his capacious mouth with tobacco-smoke, the chil- 
dren dip their pipe in the suds, start their bubble, 
and pass it to Uncle Enos. All then stoop down 
and watch the gradual growth of that wonderful 
smoke-bubble! and when ''Dandy," the dog, 
chases and catches one of these bubbles, how the 
children laugh to see the astonished and injured 
look upon his face, and what fun it is to see him 
sneeze and rub his nose with his paw ! 

The figure at the bottom, in the corner of the 
illustration, shows you how to make a giant-bubble. 
It is done by first covering your hands well with 
soap-suds, then placing them together so as to form 
a cup, leaving a small opening at the bottom. All 
that is then necessary is to hold your mouth about 
a foot from your hands and blow into them. I have 
made bubbles in this way twice the size of my 
head. These bubbles are so large that they invari- 
ably burst upon striking the floor; being unable to 
withstand the concussion. 

Although generally considered a trivial amuse- 
ment, only fit for young children, blowing soap- 
bubbles has been an occupation appreciated and 
indulged in by great philosophers and men of 
science, and wonderful discoveries in optics and 
natural philosophy have been made with only a 
clay pipe and a bowl of soap-suds. 







By S. M. Chatfield. 

Whistle sounding loud and clear. 
Laughter that I love to hear, 
Marbles rattling far and near; 
Must be John ! 

Out at elbow, out at knee, 
Hat-brim tattered wofully ; 
Turn him round and let me see 
If it 's John. 

Dimples in a ruddy cheek. 
Eyes that sparkle so they speak, 
Turned-up nose, reverse of meek ; 
Yes, 't is John ! 

Yet this morning, clean and sweet, 
Speckless collar, hat complete, 
Trousers mended, down the street 
Whistled John. 

What 's the matter with you, lad? 
Where 's the hat-brim that you had? 
Whence came all these rents so sad? 
Answer, John ! " 

Marbles." And he kicks his toe. 
Breeches will wear out, you know ; 
Knuckle-down ' is all the go," 
Falters John. 

In his pockets go his hands, 
Looking foolish, there he stands. 
S'pose you '11 scold ? " For stern commands 
Lingers John. 

Catches mother's laughing eye ; 
In a flash the kisses fly, 
And I hear, as I pass by, 
•'Bless you, John ! " 


By Rossiter Johnson. 

Chapter XL 


THE business of the printing-office went on pretty 
steadily, so far as Ned and I were concerned. 
Phaeton's passion for invention would occasionally 
lead him off for a while into some other enterprise ; 
yet he, too, seemed to take a steady interest in 
" the art deservative." The most notable of those 
enterprises was originated by Monkey Roe, who 
had considerable invention, but lacked Phaeton's 
powers of execution. 

One day, Monkey came to the door of the office 
with Mitchell's "Astronomy" in his hand, and 
called out Phaeton. 

" There 's some mischief on foot now," said Ned ; 
"and if Fay goes off fooling with any of Monkey 
Roe's schemes, we shall hardly be able to print 
the two thousand milk-tickets that John Spencer 
ordered yesterday. It 's too bad." 

When they had gone so far from the office that 
we could not hear their conversation, I saw Monkey 

open the book and point out something to Phaeton. 
They appeared to carry on an earnest discussion for 
several minutes, after which they laid the book on 
the railing of the fence and disappeared, going by 
the postern. 

Ned ran out and brought in the book. On look- 
ing it over, we found a leaf turned down at the 
chapter on comets. Neither of us had studied 

" I know what they 're up to," said Ned, after 
taking a long look at a picture of Halley's comet. 
'• I heard the other day that Mr. Roe was learning 
the art of stuffing birds. I suppose Monkey wants 
Fay to help him shoot one of those things, or catch 
it alive, may be, and sell it to his father." 

Then I took a look at the picture, and read a few 
lines of the text. 

" I don't think it 's quite fair in Fay," continued 
Ned, "to go off on speculations of that sort for 
himself alone, and leave us here to do all the work 
in the office, when he has an equal share of our 

" Ned," said I, "I don't believe this is a bird." 

Copyright, 1880, by Rossiter Johnson. All rights reserved. 



" Well, then, it 's a fish," said Ned, who had 
gone back to his case and was setting type. "They 
stuff fishes, as well as birds." 

" But it seems to me it can hardly be a fish," said 
I, after another look. 

"Why not?" 

" Because 1 don't see any fins." 

"That's nothing," said Ned. "My book of 
natural history says a fish's tail is a big fin. And 
1 'm sure that fellow has tail enough to get along 
very well without any other fins." 

This did not satisfy me, and at length we agreed 
to go and consult Jack-in-the-Box about it. 

" Jack," said Ned, as soon as we arrived at the 
Box, " did you ever stuff a fish ? " 

" Do you take me for a cook ? " said Jack, look- 
ing considerably puzzled. 

"I don't mean a fish to bake," said Ned. " I 
mean one to be put in a glass-case, and kept in a 

"Oh," said Jack, "I beg pardon. I didn't 
understand. No, I never stuffed a fish." 

" But I suppose you know how it 's done? " said 

"Oh, yes; I understand it in a general way." 

"What I want to get at," said Ned, " is this : 
how much is a fish worth that 's suitable for 

"I don't know exactly," said Jack, "but I should 
say different ones would probably bring different 
prices, according to their rarity." 

"That sounds reasonable," said Ned. "Now, 
how much should you say a fellow would probably 
get for one of this sort? " and he opened the Astron- 
omy at the picture of Halley's comet. 

Something was the matter with Jack's face. It 
twitched around in all sorts of ways, and his eyes 
sparkled with a kind of electric light. But he 
passed his hand over his features, took a second 
look at the picture, and answered : 

"If you can catch one of those, I should say it 
would command a very high price." 

" So I thought," said Ned. " Should you say as 
much as a hundred dollars, Jack?" 

"I should not hesitate to say fully two hundred," 
said Jack, as he took his flag and went out to sig- 
nal a freight-train. 

"I see it all, as plain as day," said Ned to me, 
as we walked away. " Fay has gone off to make a 
lot of money by what father would call an outside 
speculation, and left us to dig away at the work in 
the office." 

"Perhaps he '11 go shares with us," said I. 

"No, he wont," said Ned. "But I have an 
idea. I think I can take a hand in that specula- 

"How will you do it?" 

"I '11 offer Fay and Monkey a hundred dollars 
for their fish, if they catch it. That '11 seem such 
a big price, they '11 be sure to take it. And then 
I 'II sell it for two hundred, as Jack says. So I '11 
make as much money as both of them together. 
And I must give Jack a handsome present for tell- 
ing me about it." 

"That seems to be a good plan," said I. "And 
I hope they '11 catch two, so I can buy one and 
speculate on it. But, then," I added, sorrow- 
fully, "I have n't the hundred dollars to pay for it, 
and there 's no Aunt Mercy in our family, and we 
don't live on the Bowl System." 

"Never mind," said Ned, in a comforting tone. 
" Perhaps you '11 inherit a big fortune from some 
old grandmother you never heard of, till she died 
and they ripped open her bed-tick and let the gold 
tumble out. Lots of people do get money that way. " 

As we arrived home, we saw Phaeton and Mon- 
key coming by the postern with half a dozen hoops 
— that is to say, half a dozen long, thin strips of 
ash, which would have been hoops after the cooper 
had bent them into circles and fastened the ends 

"That 's poor stuff to make fish-poles," said 
Ned, in a whisper; "but don't let them know that 
we know what they 're up to. " 

They brought them into the office, got some 


other pieces of wood, and went to work constructing 
a light frame about ten feet long, three feet high at 
the highest part, and a foot wide — like that shown 
in the engraving. 

"What are you making, Fay? " said Ned. 

"Wait a while, and you '11 see," said Phaeton. 

Ned winked at me in a knowing way, and we 
went on printing milk-tickets. 

When the frame was completed, Monkey and 
Phaeton went away. 

"I sec," whispered Ned. "They're going to 
catch it with, a net. The netting will be fastened 
on all around here, and this big end left open for 
him to go in. Then, when he gets down to this 
round part, he '11 find he can't go any farther, and 
they '11 haul him up. It 's as plain as day." 

But when Monkey and Phaeton returned, in 
about half an hour, instead of netting they brought 
yellow tissue-paper and several candles. 


1' H A E T O N K UGERS. 


We pretended to take very little interest in the 
proceeding, but watched them over our shoulders. 
When we saw them fasten the tissue-paper all 
around the frame, except on the top, and fit the 
candles into auger-holes bored in the cross-pieces 
at the bottom, Ned whispered again : 

"Don't you see? That isn't a net. They're 
going to have a light in it, and carry it along the 
shore to attract the fish. It 's all plain enough 
now. " 

"If you '11 be on hand to-night," said Monkey, 
"and follow us, you may see some fun." 

"All right! We '11 be on hand," said Ned 
and I. 

In the evening we all met in the office — all 
except Phaeton, who was a little late. 

" Monkey," said Ned, in a confidential tone, "I 
want to make you an offer." 

"Offer away," answered Monkey. 

" If you catch one," said Ned, " I '11 give you a 
hundred dollars for it." 

" If I catch one?" said Monkey. " If — I — catch 
— one? Oh, yes — all right ! I '11 give you whatever 
I catch, for that price. Though I may not catch 
anything but Hail Columbia." 

" I wont take it unless it 's the kind they stuff," 
said Ned. 

" The kind — they — stuff? " said Monkey. " Did 
you say the kind they stuff, or the 'kind of stuff? 
Oh, yes — the kind of Hail Columbia they stuff. 
That would be a bald eagle, I should think." 

At this moment Phaeton joined us. 

" It 's no use, Fay," said Monkey. " Jack wont 
let us hoist it on the signal-pole. He says it might 
mislead some of the engineers, and work mischief. " 

" Hoist it on the signal-pole," whispered Ned to 
me. " Then it 's a bird they 're going to catch, 
after all, and not a fish. I see it now. Probably 
some wonderful kind of night-hawk." 

" Well, then, what do you think is the next best 
place ? " said Phaeton. 

"I think Haven's barn, by all odds," answered 

"Haven's barn it is, then," said Phaeton, and 
they shouldered the thing and walked off, we 

Before we arrived at the barn, Holman, Charlie 
Garrison, and at least a dozen other boys had joined 
us, one by one. 

The numerous ells and sheds attached to this 
barn enabled Monkey and Phaeton to mount easily 
to the ridge-pole of the highest part, where they 
fastened the monster, and lighted all her battle- 
lanterns, when she blazed out against the blackness 
of the night like some terrific portent. 

"Now you stay here, and keep her in order," 
said Monkey, "while I go for Adams." 

Mr. Adams was an amateur astronomer of con- 
siderable local celebrity, whose little observatory, 
built by himself, was about fifty rods distant from 
Haven's barn. Unfortunately, his intemperate 
habits were as famous as his scientific attainments, 
and Roe knew about where to find him. I went 
with him on the search. 

We went first to the. office of the "Cataract 
House, by James Tone," but we did not find our 
astronomer there. 

"Then," said Roe, "I know where he is, for 
sure," and he went to a dingy wooden building on 
State street, which had small windows with red 
curtains. This building was ornamented with a 
poetical sign, which every boy in town knew by 
heart, and could sing to the tune of "Oats, peas, 


"Is Professor Adams present?" said Monkey, 
as he opened the door and peered through a cloud 
of tobacco-smoke. 

An individual behind the stove returned a drowsy 

Roe stepped around to him, and with a great 
show of secrecy whispered something in his ear. 

He sprang from his chair, exclaimed, " Good- 
night, gentlemen ! You will wake up to-morrow 
morning to find me famous," and dashed out at the 

" What is it? " said one of the loungers, detain- 
ing Monkey as he was about to leave. 

" A comet," whispered Monkey. 

"A comet, gentlemen — a blazing comet!" re- 
peated the man, aloud ; and the whole company 
rose and followed the astronomer to his observa- 
tory. When they arrived there, they found him 
sitting with his eye at the none-too-reliable instru- 
ment, uttering exclamations of thankfulness that 
he had lived to make this great discovery. 

" Not Biela's, not Newton's, not Encke's — not a 
bit like any of them," said he ; " all my own, gen- 
tlemen — entirely my own ! " 

Then he took up his slate, and went to figuring 
upon it. Several of the crowd, who were now 
jammed close together around him in the little 
octagonal room, made generous offers of assistance. 

" I was always good at the multiplication-table," 
said one. 

" I have a fine, clear eye," said another; " can't 
I help you aim the pipe ? " 




This excited a laugh of derision from another, 
who inquired whether the man with the fine, clear 
eye " did n't know a pipe from a chube ?" 

Another rolled up his sleeves, and said he was 
ready to take his turn at the crank for the cause of 
science ; while still another expressed his willing- 
ness to blow the bellows all night, if Professor 
Adams would show him where the handle was. 

They all insisted on having a peep at the 
comet through the telescope, and with some 
jostling took turns about. 

One man, with round face and ruddy cheeks, 
after taking a look, murmured solemnly : 

his head, and hurled it ; and, in the twinkling of 
an eye, that comet had passed its perihelion, and 
shot from the solar system in so long an ellipse that 
I fear it will never return. 

Unfortunately, the flying cart-stake not only put 
out the comet, but struck Phaeton, who had been 
left there by Monkey Roe to manage the thing, and 
put his arm out of joint. He bore it heroically, and 

5 JT~'" — t " iw m ni Mim niii n H i B iiuMnw giiiiiiTi;?t 

/J • I- 



" That old thing bodes no good to this city." 

" Ah, Professor," said another, " your fortune 's 
made for all time. This 'II be known to fame as 
the Great American Comet. I dare say it 's as big 
as all the comets of the Old World put together." 

Mr. Wheeler took an unusually long look. 

" Gentlemen," said he, "I don't believe that 
comet will stay with us long. We 'd better leave 
the Professor to his calculations, while we go back 
and have a toast to his great discovery." 

But nobody stirred. Then Mr. Wheeler left the 
observatory, and walked straight up to Haven's 
barn. He picked up a cart-stake, swung it arourd 

Vol. VIII.— 34. 

climbed down to the ground alone 
before he told us what had hap- 
pened. Then, as he nearly fainted 
away, we helped him home, while 
Holman ran for the family physician, 
who arrived in a few minutes and 
set the arm. 

" It serves me right," said Phae- 
ton, "for lending myself to any of 
Monkey Roe's schemes to build a 
mere fool-thing." 

" I 'm sorry you 're hurt, Fay," 
said Ned; "but it does seem as if 
that comet was a silly machine, only 
intended to deceive me and Profes- 
sor Adams, instead of being for the 
good of mankind, like your other 
inventions. And now you wont be 
able to do anything in the printing-office for a 
long while, just when we 're crowded with work. 
If you were not such a very good fellow, we 
should n't let you have any share of the profits 
for the next month." 

Chapter XII. 


The printing-office enjoyed a steady run of cus- 
tom, and, as Ned had said, we were just now 
crowded with work. Almost every hour that we 




were not in bed, or at school, was spent in setting 
type or pulling the press. It was not uncommon 
for Ned to work with a sandwich on the corner of 
his case ; and, as often as he came to a period, he 
would stop and take a bite. 

" This is the way Barnum used to do," said he, 
"when he started his museum — take his lunch 
with him, and stay right there. It 's the only way 
to make a great American success " — and he took 
another bite, his dental semicircle this time inclos- 
ing a portion of the bread that bore a fine proof- 
impression of his thumb and finger in printer's ink. 

Though Phaeton was not able, for some time, to 
take a hand at the work, he rendered good service 
by directing things, as the head of the firm. He 
was often suspicious, where Ned and I would have 
been taken in at once, as to the circuses and min- 
strel shows for which boys used to come and order 
tickets and programmes by the hundred, always 
proposing to pay for them out of the receipts of the 
show. The number of these had increased enor- 
mously, and it looked as if the boys got them up 
mainly for the sake of seeing themselves in print. 
Sometimes they would make out the most elabo- 
rate programmes, and then want them printed at 
once, before their enterprises had any existence 
excepting on paper. One boy, whose father was an 
actor, had made out a complete cast of the play 
of " Romeo and Juliet," with himself put down 
for the part of Romeo, and Monkey Roe as Juliet. 

One day, a little curly-headed fellow, named 
Moses Green, came to the office, and wanted us to 
print a hundred tickets like this : 


Admit the Bearer. 

"Where 's your show going to be?" said 

" I don't know," said Moses. " If Uncle James 
should sell his horses, perhaps 1 could have it in 
his barn. " 

" Yes, that would be a good place," said Phae- 
ton. " And who are your actors ? " 

" I don't know," said Moses. " But I 'm going 
to ask Charlie Garrison, because he has a good 
fife ; and Lem Whitney, because he knows how to 
black up with burnt cork; and Andy Wilson, be- 
cause he knows ' O Susanna' all by heart." 

"And what is the price of admission?" said 

"I don't know," said Moses. "But I thought 

that, may be, if the boys would n't pay five cents, 
I 'd take four." 

" I '11 tell you what 't is, Moses," said Phaeton; 
"we 're badly crowded with work just now, and it 
would accommodate us if you could wait a little 
while. Suppose you engage your actors first, and 
rehearse the pieces that you 're going to play, and 
get the barn rigged up, and burn the cork, and 
make up your mind about the price ; and then 
give us a call, and we '11 print your tickets." 

"All right," said Moses. "I '11 go home and 
burn a cork, right away." 

And he went off, whistling " O Susanna." 

" Fay, I think that 's bad policy," said Ned, 
when Moses was out of sight. 

" I don't see how you can say that," said 

" It 's as plain as day," said Ned. "We ought 
to have gone right on and printed his tickets. Sup- 
pose he has n't any show, and never will have one 
— what of it ? We should n't suffer. His father 
would see that our bill was paid. I 've heard Father 
say that Mr. Green was the very soul of honor." 

"Ah, Ned, I'm afraid you're getting more 
sharp than honest," said Phaeton. 

From the fact that our school has hardly been 
mentioned in this story, it must not be inferred that 
we were not all this time acquiring education by 
the usual methods. The performances here record- 
ed took place out of school-hours, or on Saturdays, 
when there was no school. The events inside the 
temple of learning were generally so dull that they 
would hardly interest the story-reader. 

Yet there was now and then an accident or exploit 
which relieved the tediousness of study-time. One 
day, Robert Fox brought to school, as part of his 
lunch, a bottle of home-made pop-beer. An hour 
before intermission we were startled by a tremen- 
dous hissing and foaming sound, and the heads of 
the whole school were instantly turned toward the 
quarter whence it came. There was Fox with the 
palm of his hand upon the cork, which was half-way 
in the bottle that stood upon the floor beside his 
desk. Though he threw his whole weight upon it, 
he could not force it in any farther, and the beer 
rose like a fountain almost to the ceiling, and fell 
in a beautiful circle, of which Fox and his bottle 
were the interesting center. Any boy who has 
attended a school taught by an irascible master will 
readily imagine the sequel. Holman recorded the 
affair in the form of a Latin fable, which was so 
popular that we printed it. Here it is : 

Vulpes et Beer. 
Quondam vulpes bottulum poppi beeris in schola 
tulit, quod in area reponebat. Sed eorda la.xa, ob 



vim beeris, cortex collum rcliquit, et beer, spumaus, 
se paviinento effudit. Deinde magister capit unum 
extremum fori, ct vulpes alteram scntiebat. Hac 
fabula docct that, when you bring pop-beer to school, 
you should tie the siring so tight that it can't pop 
off before lunch-time. 

When Jack-in-the-Box saw this fable, he said it 
was a good fable, and he was proud of his pupil, 


though he felt obliged to admit that some of the 
tenses were a little out of joint. 

Holman said he put the moral in English because 
that was the important part of it, and ought to be 
in a language that everybody could understand. 

Monkey Roe said he was glad to hear this expla- 
nation, as he had been afraid it was because Hol- 
man had got to the end of his Latin. 

Charlie Garrison, in attempting to criticise the 
title of the fable, only exposed himself to ridicule. 

" It must be a mistake," said he ; " for you know 
you can't eat beer. It 's plain enough that it 

ought to be, Vulpes " (he pronounced the word in 
one syllable) "drank beer." 

This shows the perils of ignorance. If Charlie 
had had a thorough classical training, he would n't 
have made such a mistake. It was a curious fact 
that the boys who had never studied Latin, and to 
whom the blunder had to be explained, laughed at 
him more unmercifully than anybody else. 

But Holman's literary masterpiece (if it was his) 
was in rhyme, and in some re- 
spects it remains a mystery to this 

One evening he called to see 
me, and intimated that he had 
some confidential business on 
hand, for which we should better 
adjourn to the printing-office, and 
accordingly we went there. 

" I want a job of printing done," 
said he, "provided it can be done 
in the right way. " 

"We shall be glad to do it as 
well as we possibly can," said I. 
"What is it?" 

"I can't tell you what it is," 
said he. 

"Well, let me see the manu- 
script," said I. 

"There is n't any manuscript," 
said he. 

"Oh, it is n't prepared yet?" 
said I. " When will it be ready?" 
' ' There never will be any man- 
uscript for it," said he. 

I began to be puzzled. Still, I 
remembered that small signs and 
labels were often printed, consist- 
ing of only a word or two, which 
did not require any copy. 
" Is it a sign ? " said I. 

"Then what in the world is it? 
And how do you suppose I am 
going to print a thing for you, unless I know what 
it is that I am to print ? " 

"That 's the point of the whole business," said 
Isaac. " I want you to let me come into your office, 
and use your type and press to print a little thing 
that concerns nobody but myself, and I don't care 
to have even you know about it. I want you to let 
me do all the work myself, when you are not here, 
and I shall wash up the rollers, distribute the type, 
destroy all my proofs, and leave everything in the 
office as I found it. Of course I shall pay you the 
same as if you did the work." 




" But how can you set the type ? " said I. " You 
don't even know the case, do you ?" 

"No," said he; "but I suppose the letters are 
all in it somewhere, and I can find them with a 
little searching." 

' ' And do you know how to lock up a form ? " 
said I. 

"I 've often seen you do it," said he ; "and 1 
think I 'm mechanic enough to manage it." 

" When do you want to go to work ? " 

" Duo cqucs, rectus ab — to-night, right away." 

"Very well — good-night !" said I. 

When I went to the office next day, I found Ned 

morning, I found the oil all burned out of the big 
lamp, — I filled it yesterday, — and these torn scraps 
in the wood-box. I got so many together pretty 
easily, but I can't find another one that will fit." 

"It looks as if it had been a poem," said I. 

" Yes," said Ned ; "of course it was. And oh, 
look here ! It was an acrostic, too ! " 

Ned took out his pencil, and filled in what he 
supposed to be the missing initial letters, making 
the name Viola Glidden. 

" It may have been an acrostic," said I; "but 
you can't tell with certainty, so much is missing." 

" There is n't any doubt in my mind," said Ned; 


Vainly trive 

Instantly comet 
Over rt rol 

with its tor 

how I sigh 
Going in fan 
LookinS cros« 
I knew er 

earest and bes 

aspire t 
Even in 
Never aeain to 



sweetness — 
back ; 

its fleetness 
and rack, 
my od 

long agone, — 

he jo 

me dawn 



regard ? 

otus dext 




busily at work trying to fit together some small 
torn scraps of paper. They were printed on one 
side, and, as fast as he found where one belonged, 
he fastened it in place by pasting it to a blank 
sheet which he had laid down as a foundation. 
When I arrived, the work had progressed as fat- 
as shown in the card on this page. 

" Here 's a mystery," said Ned. 

"What is it?" said I. 

" Did you print this ?" said he, suddenly, looking 
into my face suspiciously. 

" No," said I, calmly ; " I never saw it before." 

"Well, then, somebody must have broken into 
our office last night. For when I came in this 

" and it 's perfectly evident to me who the burglar 
must have been. Everybody knows who dotes on 
Viola Glidden." 

" I should think a good many would dote on 
her," said I ; " she 's the handsomest girl in town." 

"Well, then," said Ned, "look at that 'otus 
dext.' Of course it was totus dexter, — and who 's 
the boy that uses that classic expression ? I 
should n't have thought that so nice a fellow as 
Holman would break in here at midnight, and put 
his mushy love-poetry into print at our expense. 
He must have been here about all night, for that 
lamp-full of oil lasts nine hours." 

" There's an easy way to punish him, whoever 




he was," said Phaeton, who had come in, in time 
to hear most of our conversation. 

" How is that?" said Ned. 

" Get out a handbill," said Phaeton, "and spread 
it all over town, offering a reward of one cent for 
the conviction of the burglar who broke into our 
office last night and printed an acrostic, of which 
the following is a fac-simile of a mutilated proof. 
Then set up this, just as you have it here." 

" That 's it ; that '11 make him hop," said Ned. 
"I '11 go to work on it at once." 

"But," said I, "it '11 make Miss Glidden hop, 

" Let her hop." 

" But then, perhaps her brother John will call 
around and make you hop." 

" He can't do it," said Ned. "The man that 
owns a printing-press can make everybody else 
hop, and nobody can make him hop — unless it is a 
man that owns another press. Whoever tries to 
fight a printing-press always gets the worst of it. 
Father says so, and he knows, for he tried it on the 
Vindicator when he was running for sheriff and 
they slandered him." 

At this point, I explained that Holman had not 
come there without permission, and that he ex- 
pected to pay for everything. 

"Why did n't you tell us that before?" said 

" I was going to tell you he had been here," 
said I, "and that he did not want any of us to 
know what he printed. But when I saw you had 
found that out, I thought perhaps, in fairness to 
him, I ought not to tell you who it was. " 

"All right," said Ned. "Of course, it 's none 
of our business how much love-poetry Holman 
makes, or how spoony it is, or what girl he sends it 
to, if he pays for it all. But don't forget to charge 
him for the oil. By the way, so many of the boys 
owe us for printing, I 've bought a blank-book to 
put the accounts in, or we shall forget some of 
them. Monkey Roe's mother paid for the ' Orphan 
Boy' yesterday. I '11 put that down now. Half 
a dollar was n't enough to charge her ; we must 
make it up on the next job we do for her or 

While he was saying this, he wrote in his book : 

Mrs. Roe per Monkey 12 orphan boys 50 Paid. 

Hardly had he finished the entry, when the door 
of the office was suddenly opened, and Patsy 
Rafferty thrust in his head and shouted : 

"Jimmy the Rhymer 's killed! " 



"I say Jimmy the Rhymer 's killed! And you 
done it, too ! " 

I am sorry that Patsy said "done," when he 
meant did. But he was a good-hearted boy, never- 
theless ; and probably his excitement was what 
made him forget his grammar. 

"What do you mean?" said Ned, who had 
turned as pale as ashes. 

" You ought to know what I mean," said Patsy. 
"Just because he had the bad luck to spill a few 
of your old types, you abused him like a pickpocket, 
and said he 'd got to pay for 'em, and drove him 
out of the office. And he 's been down around the 
depot every day since, selling papers, tryin' to 
make money enough to pay you. And now he 's 
got runned over be a hack, when he was goin' across 
the street to a gentleman that wanted a paper. 
And they 've took him home, and my mother says 
it 's all your fault, too, you miserable skinflint ! I 
wont have any of your gifts ! " 

And with that, Patsy thrust his hand into his 
pocket, drew out the visiting-cards that Ned had 
printed for him, and threw them high into the room, 
so that in falling they scattered over everything. 

"I '11 bring back your car," he continued, "as 
soon as I can get it. I lent it to Teddy Dwyer last 

Then he shut the door with a bang, and wem 

We looked at one another in consternation. 

"What shall we do ? " said Ned. 

" I think we ought to go to Jimmy's house at 
once," said I. 

"Yes, of course," said Ned. 

And he and I started. Phaeton went the other 
way — as we afterward learned, to inform his mother, 
who was noted for her efficient charity in cases of 

Ned and I not only went by the postern, but we 
made a bee-line for Jimmy's house, going over any 
number of fences, and straight through door-yards 
and garden-patches, without the slightest reference 
to streets or paths. 

We left in such a hurry that we forgot to lock up 
the office. While we were gone, Monkey Roe 
sauntered in, found Holman's acrostic, which Ned 
had pieced together, and, when he went away, 
carried it with him. 

(To be continued.') 




By Lucy M. Blinn. 

Oh, the shining days of May ! 

Don't you hear them coming, coming, — 
In the robin's roundelay, — 

In the wild bee's humming, humming ? 
In the quick, impatient sound 

Of the red-bird's restless whirring, 
In the whispers in the ground 

Where the blossom-life is stirring ? 
In the music in the air, 

In the laughing of the waters ; 
Nature's stories, glad and rare, 

Told Earth's listening sons and daughters? 
Surely, hearts must needs be gay 
In the shining days of May ! 





By Ernest Ingersoll. 

f all the beautiful birds 
you ever saw, is not the 
peacock the most beau- 
tiful and showy ? Have 
you ever thought how beau- 
tiful it is ? I suppose the 
trader of the South Sea 
islands has no appreciation of 
the loveliness that we see in 
the bird-of-paradise, nor does 
the Hottentot fully know the 
grace and richness of the os- 
trich plumes which he sticks in his 
hair. What is familiar to us loses beauty 
in our eyes, simply because we see it com- 
monly ; and I fancy that if we came suddenlv 
upon a peacock, his glorious tail spread before our 
delighted gaze for the first time in our lives, we 
should not hesitate to consider him the prince of 
the feathered race. 

Peacocks have been domesticated fowls for a 
great many years, but have not degenerated and 
lost their original tints or shape as have the barn- 
yard fowls and ducks, and, to .some extent, the 
turkeys. Nevertheless, travelers tell us that the 
wild peacocks are far handsomer than the tame 
ones. It seems impossible. The peafowl is a 
native of India, and some of the islands of the 
Indian or Malayan archipelago. Various parts of 
Java abound with them, yet there are none in 
Borneo nor in Sumatra, though these islands are 
close by. But then, some other birds of the fam- 
ily to which the peacocks and pheasants belong 
occur plentifully in Sumatra and Borneo, and 
are unknown to Java. On the main-land of Asia, 
peacocks of some sort — for there are half a dozen 
species — abound, from southern India to the north- 
ern table-lands, and even through the high passes 
into the forests and steppes of Thibet. Our domes- 
ticated variety is the common one in India, where 
it is known as the crested peacock. The peacock of 
Java is different, "the neck being covered with scar- 
let-like green feathers, and the crest of a different 
form," but the eyed train is equally large and beau- 
tiful. The remote Thibetan species has a lesser 
train, and its general color is white, upon which 
ornamental feathers are distributed in a most strik- 
ing manner. 

These birds prefer wooded districts, especially 
low, tangled, thickety forests, partly cane and partly 
hard-wood growths, called "jungles," and there 

they congregate in large flocks. One writer says 
that from an eminence he once saw the sun rise 
upon more than a thousand of these dazzling birds. 
What a sight that must have been ! How the level 
golden beams of light must have been reflected in 
a hundred crossed and gleaming rays from the trem- 
bling and iridescent plumes ! I can not understand 
how any foreground to a sunrise could be devised 
better than the waving green summit of a forest, 
covered with a thousand swaying peacocks. 

The food of these birds, like that of the argus 
pheasant and other such fowls, consists of seeds, 
small fruits, buds, or the juicy tops of tender plants, 
and insects — particularly beetles. To get this food, 
the peacock, of course, spends much of his time 
on the ground, and he is sometimes caught there 
by being run down with dogs, or by men on horse- 
back. He can make good speed on foot, however. 

The nest is a rough little heap of grass and straw, 
placed on the ground, and hollowed out enough to 
keep its dozen eggs from rolling away. The young 
are at first as dull-colored as the hen, and it is 
only after the third year that the male gets his 
full regalia. 

It would seem as if a bird carrying so long 
and cumbersome a train would find it very difficult 
to mount into the air, but he manages to do so by 
running a little way upon the ground and then 
leaping upward. Once started, he can rise to a 
considerable height, and gracefully swing his broad 
tail over trees that it would try your muscle to 
cover with an arrow from the stoutest bow. One 
way of peacock-hunting, which used to be much 
pursued, was by falcons. Here was game well 
suited to falconry. It gave a glittering prize to the 
eager kestrel or gyrfalcon or goshawk, and fitted 
the gayly dressed lords and ladies who followed 
the falconer, and watched with lively excitement 
the flights of their brave hunter of the air. 

The peacock's train is his glory. It eclipses all 
the burnished tints and reflections of his proud 
little head and jaunty crest. I have read a very 
good and minute description of this most superb 
specimen of Nature's feather-work, which I would 
rather quote than try to equal : 

" The train derives much of its beauty from the 
loose barbs of its feathers, whilst their great number 
and their unequal length contribute to its gorgeous- 
ness, the upper feathers being successively shorter, 
so that when it is erected into a disk, the eye-like 
or moon-like spot at the tip of each feather is dis- 




played. The lowest and longest feathers of the train 
do not terminate in such spots, but in spreading barbs, 
which encircle the erected disk. The blue of the neck ; 
the green and black of the back and wings ; the brown, 
green, violet, and gold of the tail ; the arrangement of 
the colors, their metallic splendor, and the play of color 
in changing lights, render the male peacock an object 
of universal admiration." 

But this description, good as it is, cannot give as true 

an idea of the bird's appearance as any child may have 

after taking one glance at his magnificent lordship. 

Nearly all my readers probably have had this pleasure, 

although some of you city children may, perhaps, have seen only the beautiful plumes, made up into 

fans, or displayed as decorations in parlor and library. But we of to-day are far from being the first 

to discover this decorative value of peacock feathers. The gorgeous plumage ornamented the thrones 





and palaces of Eastern monarchs, and the houses 
of the rich, in far-off centuries ; and the beautiful 
fan, shown you in the picture on this page, was 
copied from one made more than two thousand 
years ago, in Etruria, a country of ancient Italy. 

The peacock appears very early in history as a 
domestic fowl, since the Hebrews had it long before 
the days of Solomon. From Asia it went westward 
into Europe, as soon as civilization began to pene- 
trate what then were savage wilds. In those old 
days of Rome, which the poets call its golden 
age, when the luxurious life of that splendid city 
was at its height, no great feast was without its 
peacocks, cooked as the most ostentatious dish. 
The body of the bird was roasted, and when 
placed upon the table was wrapped in a life- 
like way in its own skin, with the tail-feathers 
spread. Could anything be more ornamental to 
a dinner-table ? The custom of having peacocks 
served at banquets continued into the Middle Ages, 
but it is rarely that one is cooked nowadays, for 
most persons consider the flesh dry and tasteless. 

The peacock seems filled with an intense admira- 
tion of his own beauty. He poses in a stately atti- 
tude, or struts about, inviting your attention to his 
magnificence ; then he slowly bends his proud head 
from one side to the other and rattles the quills of 
his tail, as he marches off with the parade of a 
drum-major, and turns to let the sunshine glint 
upon his plumes in some new way. "As vain as 
a peacock " is a well-founded proverb, no doubt ; 
but, perhaps, in justice to the beautiful bird, it 
would be wise to remember a short sermon on this 
text from your good friend, Jack-in-the-Pulpit, who 
said to you, in March, 1874: 

" I gave a peacock a good talking to, the other 
day, for being so vain. But he made me under- 
stand that vanity was his principal merit. 'For,' 
said he, 'how in the world should we peacocks 
look, if we did n't strut ? What kind of an air 
would our tail feathers have, if we did n't spread 
them ? ' I gave in. A meek peacock would be 
an absurdity. Vanity evidently was meant specially 
for peacocks." 






By Felix L. Oswald. 

Chapter VII. 

" Rocks and lonely flower-leas, 
Playgrounds of the mountain breeze." 

The Republic of Guatemala is as far south as 
Egypt, but its mountains are so high that the 
weather is by no means very hot, and when we 
approached the heights of the Sierra Gorda we 
had to unstrap our blankets to keep our poor 
monkeys warm. The upper sierra was so lonely 
that we became a little uneasy about our road, but 
the confidence of our guide re-assured us. 

"There is no doubt about the right direction," 
said he; "we have to keep straight south, and 
if we get up to the ridge before sundown, you 
will see the Valley of Antigua. " 

" I don't think we shall reach a house before 

night," said Menito ; "this looks like " He 

stopped and clutched my arm. " Look up there," 
he whispered; "there 's somebody ahead of us — 
something moving in the cliffs over yonder." 

The moving something looked like a big red 
bag with two little feet, — a traveling bundle of red 
shawls, as it seemed when we came a little nearer. 

" Oh, I know," laughed Daddy Simon, " that 's 
the old sergeant's daughter, with her pack of 
dry-goods ; I have met her twice before. " 

" What sergeant?" I asked. 

"He used to belong to the mounted police," 
said the guide, "and he 's living somewhere in 
this sierra now. His wife makes woolen shawls 
and things, and they peddle them all over the 
country. Yes, that 's the same girl," he whispered, 
when we overtook the red bundle. 

The bundle turned, and under a heap of woolen 
shawls, caps, and mittens, we saw the owner of the 
little feet, a black-eyed infant with a sharp nose 
and a big walking-stick — a mere baby, of eight or 
nine years, I should say, certainly not more than 
ten, but quite self-possessed. 

" Fine evening," she observed, after answering 
our greeting. "Traveling?" 

"Yes, we are going to Antigua," 1 replied; 
" do you know which is the shortest road?" 

"I '11 show you by and by, when we get up to 
the ridge," said she; " you are all right thus far. 
Strangers, 1 suppose ? " 

"Not altogether," said our guide; "didn't I 
see you in San Mateo two years ago ? " 

"Of course you did," said she; "I go there 
every Christmas." 

"Quite alone?" I asked. "Don't the sierra 
Indians bother you? " 

"Not if I know it," said the little milliner; 
" they would find out that my father owns a musket. 
My name is Miss Cortina, you know." 

"But what about ghosts?" said Menito; "they 
don't care for muskets. Suppose you should meet 
the Wild Spaniard, or the Three Howling Monks ? " 

"Howling Monks? They had better leave me 
alone," said Miss Cortina, with a glance at her 
walking-stick. "I'd give them something to howl 

The sun went down before we reached the 
summit rocks, and it was almost dark when we 
halted, in a grove of larch-trees on the southern 

" I must leave you now," said Miss Cortina, 
when we had pitched our tent. "That black 
smoke-cloud over yonder is the Volcano of Mesaya, 
so you see that you are going in the right direc- 
tion. I '11 show you the trail to-morrow morning." 

She shouldered her bundle and took camp under 
the branches of a fallen tree, some fifty yards from 
our bivouac. 

" No wonder she is n't afraid of ghosts," laughed 
Tommy; "would n't she make a good witch her- 
self? She uses that bundle of hers for a bed, it 
seems, but I wonder if she has anything to eat ? " 

"Here, Menito," said I, "take her these cakes 
and figs, and ask her if she needs anything else." 

Menito started for the tree, but soon came back 

"She would n't let me come near her wigwam 
at all," said he; "she tells me that she can't 
receive any callers after eight o'clock ! " 

About midnight, we were awakened by a strange 
light that penetrated our tent and threw a reddish 
glare on the opposite trees. 

"That can't be the moon," said Tommy; 
" may be the woods are afire — wait, I 'm going to 
see what it is. Oh, come out here, all of you," he 
cried, — " the whole sky is ablaze ! " 

We stepped out, and, sure enough, the whole 
southern firmament was suffused with a lurid glow, 
and, when we had made our way through the 
bushes, we saw the fire itself, a whirl of bright red 
flames that seemed to rise from the heart of the 



central sierra, and illuminated the wild mountains 
near and far. Every now and then a fiery mass 
shot up into the clouds and fell back in a shower 
of burning flakes. 

''That's the Volcano of Mesaya," said Daddy 
Simon. " May the saints help all the poor people in 
that sierra ! " 

He and Menito looked on in silence, but Tommy 
had never seen a volcanic eruption before, and was 
almost beside himself with excitement. 

"Come this way!" he cried. "Step on this 
ledge, uncle, you can see it more plainly. Why, 
talk about battles and fire-works ! All the gun- 
powder in the world could not make a flame of that 

At sunrise the smoke of the volcano stood like a 
black cloud-pillar in the southern sky, and when we 
continued on our road, we noticed a strange dust in 
the air, a haze of fine ashes, that had drifted over 
with the night-wind. The lowlands at our feet, 
however, were sunlit for hundreds of miles, and 
through a gap in the south-western coast-range we 
could see the glittering waters of the Pacific Ocean. 
The southern slope of our sierra was very steep, till 
we reached a sort of terrace formed by the upper 
valley of the Rio Claro. Here our little guide 
stopped, and pointed to a stone house that stood 
like a watch-tower at the brink of the river-valley. 

" That 's where my folks live," said she. " You 


height ! But how strange, — it is all so still ! That 
volcano must be a long way from here." 

" About eighty miles," I replied. " It is beyond 
the border, in the State of Nicaragua. " 

"What's the matter?" said a squeaking little 
voice behind us. 

"Who's that?" I asked. " Miss Cortina ? " 

" Yes, it 's I," said she. " What 's up ? " 

" Can't you see it ? " said Tommy. " Look over 

"That? Then I had better go to bed again," 
said the little lady. "Well, well; I thought there- 
was something the matter. Never mind that old 
volcano ; you can see that any day in the year." 

We were not quite sure about that. The night 
was a little chilly, but we stood and looked till the 
wonder was veiled by the rising morning mist. 

can't miss your way now. Where you see that 
cross-road, there, I have to turn off to the right. I 
have been gone longer than I expected." 

" I suppose you did not sell much on this trip ? " 
inquired Menito, " though it 's none of my busi- 

Miss Cortina cocked her sharp little nose. 

" You had better mind your own business, then," 
said she. " I shall find a hundred customers before 
you sell one of your old monkeys. " 

" That 's right, sissy," laughed Tom. " But we 
do not sell our monkeys ; do you know anybody 
hereabouts who does ? We want to buy all the pets 
we can get — kittens, cats, and catamounts." 

" You do ? " said she ; " why did n't you say so 
before ? How would a couple of young bears suit 
you ? My father could find you a pair of nice ones." 




" What will he take? " asked Menito. 

"That 's no business of mine," said the- little 
shrew. " You just follow this road ; if my father is 
home, he will overtake you before you cross that 
river. The bears are somewhere in the sierra." 

A mile farther down we came to a bridge, where 
we had to wait half an hour, till at last 
a man with a large musket came run- 
ning down the river-road. 

" Yes, that 's the old sergeant," said 
Daddy Simon. "I know him by that 
big gun of his." 

"Hallo! So my girl was right, after 'r 

all," said the sergeant. "Her mother 
would n't believe that you wanted to 
buy those bears." 

"Where are they?" I asked. 

"Up in the sierra; if you are bound 
for Antigua, it 's a little out of your 
direction," said he. "But you might 
as well go by way of San Miguel, and 
get the viatico." 

"What 's that?" 

" San Miguel is a convent," explained 
the sergeant. "And the viatico is the 
luncheon they give to all strangers." 

" All right ! " I laughed. " We must 
n't miss that for anything. Come on, 

The sergeant was a fast walker, but 
we managed to keep up with him some 
eight miles, up and down hill through 
the mountains, till he brought us to the 
brink of a deep ravine, where our mule 
refused to advance another step. 

" You had better leave her up here 
and let that boy take her along the hill- 
side," said our new guide. "They can 
meet us at the mouth of the next creek." 

When we had reached the bottom of 
the ravine the hunter stopped and point- 
ed to a pile of bowlders on the opposite 
slope. " That 's the bear's den," said 
he ; " she has two cubs, nearly a month 
old, I should say ; let 's fetch them right 

" Then we had better get our guns ready ?" said 

"Never mind the guns," said the sergeant; 
"I '11 get the bears for you; they are only cubs, 
and the old one is n't at home." 

" How do you know ?" 

" She 's out marmot-hunting," said he; " there 's 
a colony of marmottos " (a sort of prairie-dogs) "on 
the ridge of this sierra, and they never come out 
till the sun gets pretty high, a little after noon, gen- 
erally. Now hold my musket a moment," said 

he, when we reached the bowlders. He untied a 
little bundle, took out a sack and a pair of large 
buckskin gloves, and after looking carefully up and 
down the ravine, he crawled into a cleft in the bot- 
tom rocks of the pile. 

"There's something wrong — may be the old 


bear was at home, after all," said Tommy, when we 
had waited about twenty minutes, without seeing 
any sign of the sergeant. 

" No, I think he knows what he 's about," said 
Daddy Simon ; " he 's the best hunter in this sierra, 
and quite as sharp-nosed as his daughter. Yes, 
here he comes. Listen ! " 

A whimpering howl came from the depths of the 
cave, and, a moment after, the hunter crawled out 
and handed us a creature like a fat, black poodle- 
dog. "Here, take charge of this old howler," said 



he; " they are bigger than I expected; I am going 
to get his brother now." 

" There is n't much time to lose," said he, when 
he re-appeared with the second black poodle ; " the 
old bear will come home before long. We shall 
have to play her a trick, or she may come after us." 

" What are you going to do ?" I asked. 

"I '11 show you," said he ; and taking hold of 
the two cubs, he soused them in the creek at the 
bottom of the ravine ; and then, holding them close 
together, he walked slowly toward another pile of 
bowlders a little farther down. The drenched 
cubs trickled like two watering-pots, and after hold- 
ing them over the top of the pile, he rubbed their 
wet fur against some of the projecting rocks. 
"Let me see that bag now," said he; "chuck 
them in, please ; that 's it. And now let 's get out 
of this as fast as we can. Come this way ; straight 
uphill; the shortest way is the best." 

We clambered up the slope on our hands and 
feet, till we came in sight of the place where Menito 
was waiting with the mule. But before we reached 
them, the hunter suddenly threw himself flat be- 
hind a rock and motioned us with his hand to keep 
down and hide ourselves. " I knew there was no 
time to lose," he whispered ; " here comes the old 
one! " 

Down below, at the bottom of the valley, a big 
fat bear came trotting along the creek with her 
nose close to the ground, making straight for the 
wet bowlders. There she stopped, and after nos- 
ing about here and there, she raised herself on her 
hind legs and began to tear down the rocks, one 
after another, though some of them could not 
weigh less than a ton. Now and then she raised 
her head and looked silently all around, and then, 
with a fierce growl, she fell upon the rocks again. 
I wondered how she would manage the enormous 
bowlders at the bottom of the pile, but before she 
had finished her work, the hunter slipped away 
and beckoned us to follow him. 

"We are all right now," said he, when we got 
back to the hill-road ; ' ' she has n't seen us yet, 
and before she has finished there, we shall have a 
start of a mile at least. How do you like the cubs 
— don't you think they are worth four dollars ? " 

"Certainly," said I; "but I '11 give you five, 
for showing us how to outwit a bear." 

"Yes, but look here," said Daddy Simon, "Mr. 
Cortina must n't leave us yet ; we should be sure 
to lose our way ; I have never been in this part of 
the sierra before." 

"Don't trouble yourselves about that," laughed 
the hunter ; " I want to get my share of that viatico. 
But, in the first place, we must have some dinner 
now; I '11 take you to a place where we can get 
any amount of bread and honey." 

" What ! Is there a house up here ? " I asked. 

"No, but a honey-camp," said the sergeant; 
" old Jack Gomez is living there all by himself, 
hunting up wild bees' nests in the rocks. He 's 
the funniest old chap you ever saw." 

We could not deny that, when Mr. Cortina in- 
troduced us to the hermit. The old fellow wore 
leather knee-breeches, and a short leather waist- 
coat, but nothing else, and from the top of his 
bare head to the tips of his toes his skin looked as 
if he had been painted with yellow ocher and 
coach-varnish ; his beard and his long hair were 
just one mass of clotted honey. 

"How are you, Jack?" said the sergeant, and 
slapped him on the shoulder, but drew back his 
hand as if he had touched a pitched kettle. 

" Just look at this ! " cried he. "Why don't you 
wash yourself, you old monster ? " 

"Wash myself!" chuckled the hermit; "what 
would be the use, my dear friends ? I should be 
covered with honey again the very next day. That 's 
just the fun of it," he continued, pointing to a big 
pile of honey-combs. "I find a nest everyday! 
The young chaps in San Tomas would like to 
find out how I do it, but they can't," he tittered, 
" they can't ! I get a keg full before they can fill a 
quart-cup. I could get rich at this business," said 
he, " but my nephew charges me a dollar for every 
barrel he hauls to Antigua." 

" Why don't you take it there yourself? " asked 
the sergeant. 

" To Antigua ? The saints bless you ! " laughed 
the hermit, — " the flies would eat me alive ! No ; 
I have to stick to the highlands." 

" Where do you sleep at night, Don Gomez ? " 
I inquired. 

"Right here," said he, "under this tree, or in 
that dug-out " — with a glance at an excavation in 
the side of the hill. " If it 's going to rain, I can 
tell it by my weather-prophets, up there." 

Behind the cliffs of the honey-camp rose a lime-' 
stone ridge, so absolutely perpendicular that some 
of the rocks looked like tower-walls. On top of this 
natural fortress roosted a swarm of king-vultures — 
big, black fellows with red heads, taking their ease 
as if they knew that their citadel was inaccessible 
to human feet. The ridge was honey-combed with 
caves similar to the holes in the lower cliffs, and, 
as the vultures flew to and fro, their young ones 
thrust their heads out of the holes and seemed to 
clamor for their dinner. 

" If it 's going to rain, the old ones go to roost 
in those holes," said the hermit. "I never knew 
them to make a mistake." 

The vulture-rock was too steep to climb, and it 
would have been useless to shoot the poor fellows, 
but the hermit sold us a pair of 7iianjiottos, or 




mountain weasels, lively little chaps, looking almost 
like yellow squirrels with stump-tails. He had 
tamed several dozen of them, and fed them on the 
refuse of his wax-caldron. These marmots and a 
little dog, he said, had been his only companions 
for the last five years. 

" Let 's go," said the sergeant, as soon as we 
had finished our dinner; " we can not get to San 

mountain meadows stretched away before us for 
miles and miles ; but there was not a trace of a 
human settlement. Toward sunset, however, we 
passed an abandoned cottage that reminded me 
of the shepherds' cabins in the Austrian Alps. 

" I once tried to camp in that shanty," said the 
sergeant, " but I did not sleep a wink; there 's a 
nest of mountain parrots somewhere on the roof or 


Miguel before to-morrow noon, but it wont rain 
to-night, if we can trust those vultures, and I am 
going to take you to a very comfortable camp. " 

The southern chain of the sierra seemed to be 
almost entirely uninhabited, — wild rocks and lonely 

in the chimney, and the old ones screamed all 
night like wild-cats." 

' ' I wish we could find some kind of a shelter- 
place," I observed ; "it will be chilly to-night." 

" Yes, but not where we are going to camp," 




said the hunter; "just wait till you see the place." 
He took us to a dry ravine with an overhanging 
ledge, where the winds had heaped up a mass of 
dry leaves from a neighboring live-oak grove. We 
raked them together into a large pile, and then 


spread our tent-cloth on top ; but there were still 
leaves enough left to fill a hundred bed-sacks. 

"We '11 pile them on top of our blankets," said 
the sergeant ; ' ' that will keep us more comfortable 
than any camp-fire. A fire is apt to go out, and if 
it does you are sure to wake up with cold feet, but 
these leaves will keep us as warm as a feather-bed." 

They did, indeed, and we had never passed a 
more comfortable night in the wilderness. But 
toward morning Tommy waked me before it was 
quite daylight. 

"How 's that?" said he. " I have been sitting 
up in my shirt-sleeves for half an hour, and it 's 
as warm as ever. It 's going to rain, I am afraid." 

After a look at the clouds, I made them all get 
up and pack their things. The whole sky was 
overcast with a grayish haze that looked very much 
like the ash-cloud of the volcano. 

(' There 's a storm brewing," said the hunter; 
" I heard something like thunder a while ago. It 
must be in the central valley, between this sierra 
and the one we left yesterday morning. " 

That seemed, indeed, the true explanation. We 
did not see any lightning, but as we descended the 
valley the thunder in the mountains boomed like a 
distant cannonade, with an end- 
less echo ; sometimes like the 
deep mutterings of a human 
voice, and then again like the 
rumbling of a ten-pin ball over 
a hollow floor. By good luck, 
our road went steadily down- 
hill, and we pressed for- 
ward at the rate of five 
miles an hour till we sight- 
ed our destination, the 
Convent of San Miguel, 
in a grove of poplar 
and plane trees. Down 
in the valley we set 
our mule trotting 
now and then, for 
the thunder-peals 
became louder 
and louder, as if 
the storm 
were fol- 
lowing at 
our heels. 
There 's no 
danger till we see the 
lightning," said the 
hunter; "it 's still all on the 
other side of the sierra. " 

Half a mile from the convent we 
came to a creek, where we hastily 
watered our mule and washed our wire 
baskets and saddle-bags. 

"Would n't this be a nice bathing-place ? " said 
Menito; "why, it 's as warm to-day as in mid- 
summer ! " 

"Yes, but we had better hurry up," said 
Tommy; "I believe I saw a flash of lightning 
just now." 

"Hallo, your boy is right!" said the hunter; 
" look at the mountains — it 's coming ! " 

The summits of the sierra had suddenly turned 
gray, and even while we ran we could hear the 
roar of the storm in the pine-forests of the upper 

" Forward ! " cried the sergeant; " we can reach 
the convent in ten minutes ! " 

- Black Betsy seemed to understand him, and 
went ahead, till we had to run at the top of our 
speed to keep up with her. Dust and leaves 
flew over our heads, but through the rush of the 
whirlwind we could hear the loud shouting of the 
people at the convent; and just before the storm 
overtook us, we reached the gate, amidst the cheers 




of the jolly friars, who met us in the court-yard, 
and pulled our mule through the portico into the 
lower hall of the convent. 

In the next minute the rain came down like a 
deluge, but we were safe. The convent was 
massive stone building, with a flag-roof that 
had weathered worse storms than this. While 
we brushed the dust from our coats, the 
hunter and one of the monks helped 
Daddy Simon to unpack the mule, ^ "> -<;' 

but by some mistake they un- 
buckled the strap that held the 
wire baskets. These tum- 
bled down, and out jumped 
our little friend, Bobtail 
Billy, and was grab- 
bed almost in the 
same moment by a 
savage-looking bull- 
dog, who would cer- 
tainly have killed 
him if a monk had 
not caught him by the throat in 
the nick of time. As it was, 
Bill)' got off with a bad scare, 
but he did not leave off chat- 
tering and whimpering for the 
next ten minutes. 

The rain lasted all night, but th 
next .morning was as clear and sunny 
as a May day in Italy, and before we left, 
the abbot took us over to a side-building, 
to show us the curiosities of the convent. 
They had a collection of Indian 
idols and weapons, and a strange 
feather-cloak which had belonged 
to a prince of the na- 
tion that inhabited 
Guatemala before the 
Spaniards came. It 
was made of coarse linen, but 
from the collar to the lower 
seam, continuous rows of gau- 
dy bird-feathers had been 
stitched into the weft of the 
cloth, blue and gray ones 
forming the background, with 

the brilliant plumes of the yellow macaw set around 
the collar, and red and purple wing-feathers dis- 
tributed here and there, like flower-patterns on a 
gray carpet. They had also an assortment of 
stuffed snakes, and on the porch of the main 
building stood a big cage, shaped like a castle, 
with turrets and weather-cocks, and containing a 
dozen tame king-vultures. They hopped out as 
soon as the cage was opened, and followed us all 
about the porch like dogs. 

' ' Would you like to sell me one of those pets ? " 
I asked. 

" I do not know," said the abbot. " It 's against 
the rule ; but I think I '11 let you have a pair, and Mr. 
Cortina can get me some new ones." 
"Why? Is there 
a law against it ? " I 

"No; I '11 tell you 
how it is," said the 
abbot. " Come this 
way, please." 

He took us to the 
refectory of the con- 
vent, and showed us 
a large picture rep- 
resenting a man in 
hot pursuit of a bear 
with a child in its 

" This picture was 
painted to commem- 
orate an actual oc- 
currence," said he. 
' ' Some fifty years 
ago, a gentleman by the 
name of Yegros owned 
a large farm near this 
convent, and while his 
children were at play in 
the garden one day, a 
bear broke through the 
hedge and ran off with 
his little son. Don Ye- 
gros snatched up his 
musket and started in 
pursuit, but, seeing that 
he could not overtake 
the bear, he knelt down 
and fired — a well-aimed 
shot, as he thought, and 
from a distance that 
made it easy enough to 
hit such a large brute. 
But the bear kept on, 
and disappeared in the 
chaparral [thorn-jungle] 
of the neighboring hills. After a long search, 
the child was given up for lost, till, some eight 
days after, two of our monks, coming home from 
a visit to an Indian village, saw a number of 
vultures on a certain tree in the depths of the 
chaparral, and, making their way to the spot, found 
the carcass of the bear, and not far off a little boy 
of four or five years, who told them his father's 
name, and said that he had lived a whole week on 
wild raspberries. When Don Yegros got his son 




back, he gave this convent a present of fifty acres 
of land, besides a sum of money, on condition 
that we should feed twelve king-vultures, because 
those birds had guided the rescuing party." 

Bobtail Billy, after his last adventure, had taken 
tip his quarters in the convent kitchen, but when 
we were ready to start, the little chatterbox had 

" May be, he is in the yard," said the sergeant. 
"That old bull-dog is keeping up a terrible noise 
about something or other." 

The dog had been chained to a post near an old 
garden-wall, and we could not imagine what should 
have put Billy in hrs way. But the hunter was 
right : on top of the wall stood our little bobtail, 
chattering and trying to aggravate the bull-dog in 
every possible way. The dog barked furiously, and 
now and then made a savage leap against the wall ; 
but his chain was too short, and whenever he 
jumped, Billy hit him with a stone or a piece of 
mortar. Our calls at last attracted the attention of 

the little bombardier, and seeing that we were wait- 
ing for him at the gate, he jumped down on the 
other side, and tried to reach us by running along 
at the side of the garden-wall. But, at the end of 
the wall, he had to cross the court-yard, and here 
his enemy caught sight of him. 

He stepped back, and then throwing himself 
forward with a sudden leap, he managed to snap 
the chain close to the post, and came charging 
clown the road like a hunting panther. Billy was 
trotting leisurely along, but hearing the rattle of 
the chain, he looked back, and no human voice 
could have imitated his squeals of horror as he 
came tearing through the gate-way. The affair 
might have got us into a scrape, for Tommy had 
already leveled his shot-gun, resolved to defend his 
pet against all comers ; but the heavy chain saved 
the bull-dog's life: its weight delayed him, and 
so he was a moment too late ; when he overtook 
us, Billy had already reached his perch, and was 
making faces at him from behind the saddle-bag. 

(To be continued.) 

There waj a $mall 
$ervar\t called Kate, 
Wke rat ©n fke ^tairj 

very late; 
Wnen a$kea k®w $ke 

She $aicL ^Ke was 

But wa$ ©tkerwi^e do- 
ing fir ]t rate . 

Vol. VIII.— 35. 




By Mary Bradley. 

" Dear me ! " cried little Polly Miller, as she 
looked out of the window one sunshiny May morn- 
ing. "Dear me; sakes alive! Here comes a 
percession ! " 

Polly flew out to the porch, her eyes shining, and 
her cheeks pink with excitement ; for processions 
did not often go past the little brown cottage where 
she lived. Down the lane there was a tooting of 
tin horns, a merry murmur of children's voices, a 
flutter of gay little flags, bright ribbons, white 
muslin dresses, — and in a minute more the May- 
party came marching along. There was a queen, 
with a wreath of flowers on her head, and a long 
white veil floating behind her; there were four 
maids of honor, carrying long wands that were 
decorated with pink and blue streamers ; there were 
ten girls marching two by two behind the maids of 
honor ; and two big girls to take care of the party ; 
besides any number of boys, who all carried 
baskets, and had little flags stuck in their hats, and 
"blew up their horns," as if every one of them was 
a Little Boy Blue in his own right. 

Polly watched them in breathless delight. 
" Oh ! " she gasped, "it 's the loveliest percession 
I never did see ! An' it 's going — why, just as sure 
as I 'm alive, it 's going up in my woods ! So it 
aint a percession, after all ; it 's a picnic ! " 

Polly always said "//y woods," although they only 
belonged to her as they belonged to the birds, and 
the tree-toads, and the black ants, and the bright- 
eyed, bushy-tailed squirrels that she loved to watch. 
She spent a great deal of her time there — almost as 
much as the birdies and the bunnies themselves ; for 
she had nothing else to do with it, — nothing to 
signify, at least ; and the woods were so close by 
her home that her mother could call her from the 
front door, if she wanted her. It 's true Polly 
did n't always hear her when she called, for she 
strayed off sometimes to hunt for wild strawberries, 
or to get the flag-root that grew in the marshy bed 
of the brook. But her mother knew the woods 
were safe, and she never worried. There were no 
snakes, and it was too far away from the high-road 
for tramps. 

Indeed, it was a rare thing for Polly to meet any- 
body at all in her woods. Once upon a time there 
had been a picnic in them — a Sunday-school pic- 
nic, which came up from New York ; and Polly's 
grown-up sister, who was n't grown-up and married 
then, had gone to it. She had told Polly all about 
it a great many times, — about the swings that were 

put up in the trees; about the long table (made 
of pine boards resting on stumps) that was covered 
with good things; about the little girls in white 
frocks and blue sashes ; about the banners and the 
badges ; and the ladies and gentlemen who played 
games with the children; and the songs they sang; 
and the ice-cream they ate ; and everything! It 
was a story that Polly was never tired of, and the 
dream of her life had been to go to a picnic just 
like that one. No wonder her eyes sparkled when 
she saw the May-party ! 

For she never thought of there being any trouble 
about her going to it. Susan Ann went to the pic- 
nic — that was the grown-up sister: why should n't 
Polly go as well as Susan Ann ? The only thing 
was, they were all dressed up in white frocks. 
"But nevermind!" said Polly. "I have a white 
frock, too." 

And she ran upstairs, pulled it out of the bot- 
tom drawer of her mother's bureau, and had it on 
in a jiffy — as funny a little white frock as you have 
seen in many a day. Polly's mother made it after 
the same pattern that she had made Susan Ann's 
frocks by when she was little ; and it was long in the 
skirt, and short in the waist, and low in the neck ; 
it had n't any ruffles, or embroideries, or gores, or 
pull-backs, such as little girls wear nowadays, but 
the short sleeves were looped up with pink shoulder- 
knots, made out of Susan Ann's old bonnet-strings, 
and Polly's fat little neck and round arms were left 
all bare. They looked cunning, though ; so plump, 
and white, and babyish that you wanted to kiss 
them. The bright little face was sweet enough for 
kisses, too ; and the naked little feet — for Polly 
couldn't bear shoes and stockings in warm weather 
— were bewitching. When she put her Sunday 
hat on — a big, flapping Leghorn with a wreath of 
" artificials " round it — she looked as if she had 
stepped out of a picture-book ; and she had n't the 
least idea that there was anything funny or old- 
fashioned about her. 

There was nobody around when she went down- 
stairs, for it was churning-day, and her mother was 
busy. Besides, she never paid much attention to 
Polly's movements, so there was no one to hinder 
the little one from following the May-party. They 
had only had time to look about them a little, set 
the provision-baskets in a safe place, and begin to 
consider how they were going to amuse themselves 
all day, when Polly overtook them. 

" Is you havin' a picnic?" she said, walking up, 




with a smiling face, to one of the big girls. "I 
likes picnics, myself." 

" Do you ? " said the big girl, staring at her in a 
rather disagreeable way. " Thank you for the 

"You 're welcome," answered Polly, innocently. 
It was what she had been taught to say whenever 
any one thanked her for a favor. " I did n't go to 
any picnics yet, though," she added, in a confiding 
tone. " Susan Ann went once, but she did n't take 
me. I guess I was n't anywheres 'round then." 

" What child is that ? " asked the other big girl, 
who had just discovered Polly. "Where in the 
world did you pick up such a funny little object, 
Bertha ? Is Noah's Ark in the neighborhood ? " 

"Can't say, I'm sure," said Bertha, moving 
away. " And I have n't picked her up at all. She 
began a conversation with me, which I '11 leave you 
to finish." 

"Where did you come from, little girl?" asked 
the other one, rather hastily ; for she had various 
things to attend to. " You don't know anybody 
here, do you? This is a private party." 

" Aint it a picnic?" said Polly, a little shadow 
of anxiety creeping into her smile. " I thinked it 
was a picnic, an' I came to stay." 

"Oh, you did?" exclaimed the other girl, laugh- 
ing. "But that wont do, 1 'm afraid. Who in- 
vited you, Sissie ? " 

Polly shook her head. "My name aint Sissie; 
it 's Polly Miller; and I came to stay," she re- 

A group of girls and boys had gathered around 
her by this time, and curious eyes were staring at 
the bare little feet, at the funny white frock, at the 
old-fashioned, wide-brimmed hat with the artificial 
roses on it. "What a guy ! " the eyes telegraphed 
to one another; and little ripples of not very amia- 
ble laughter ran around the group. Polly's eyes 
wandered from one face to another with a look that 
had suddenly grown wistful. Her happy smile 
faded, and a blush stole up into her cheek. 

" Must n't anybody come to picnics ? " she asked, 

"Not unless they are invited," was the quick 
answer. "And you 're not invited, you see. 
Besides, you don't know anybody here, and all the 
other little girls are acquainted with one another. 
You would n't have a nice time at all." 

"Oh, yes! / think I should!" cried Polly, 
hopefully. "I aint hard to get acquainted with." 
the winsome smile spreading over her face again. 
" Susan Ann says I 'm a sociable little body." 

" You 're a droll one, anyhow," said the big girl, 
with a merry laugh. " What shall we do with her, 
children ? Let her stay? " 

" Oh dear, no ! " — a little miss with long yellow 

curls, and a proud little nose very high in the air, 
spoke up promptly ; and then, with a cold glance at 
Polly, she added: "We don't want that sort of 
people at our picnic. Tell her to go away, Lulu." 

And two or three others chimed in with — 

"Yes, Lulu! Send her away. We can't be 
bothered with that little barefooted thing all day. 
She 's no right to expect it. Tell her to go home." 

"There, dear," said Lulu hastily, and more than 
half ashamed of herself, "it wont do, you see; and 
we 're going to be busy, now, so I guess you 'd 
better run home right away, little Polly What 's- 
your-name ! Here 's a caramel for you," taking 
one out of her pocket, with an attempt at conso- 

But Polly did not accept it. After one wonder- 
ing and wistful glance all around the circle of pretty 
faces, not one of which had a welcome for her, she 
turned her back upon them, and walked away 
slowly and sorrowfully. The children looked after 
her with an uncomfortable feeling; and Lulu said, 
"Poor thing!" in a pitying tone. But the little 
miss in the princesse dress and the long yellow 
curls tossed her head. 

" What else could she expect ? " she cried. " As 
if we wanted a lot of ragamuffins ! Why, next 
thing, 'Susan Ann,' and all the family would have 
' come to stay. ' I never saw anything so cool in all 
my life." 

"Oh, well; she 's gone now; so never mind," 
said Lulu. " Let 's go and see if the swings are 
up yet." 

The children scattered about through the woods, 
some to gather violets and wind-flowers, some to 
sail boats in the brook, some to go flying sky-high 
in the long rope-swings that the boys were putting 
up. They forgot little Polly as soon as she was out 
of sight ; but she did not forget them. There was 
no anger against them in her innocent heart ; only 
a great disappointment, a puzzled wonder, and an 
unconquered desire. She could not understand 
why they did not want her, and she still longed 
after the unknown delights of the picnic. 

The longing grew stronger as she went farther 
away ; so strong at last that it was not to be re- 
sisted ; and Polly turned about suddenly with a new 
idea. What was the use of going home, where 
there was n't anything to do ? She could stay 
around in the woods, and hide in her house when 
nobody was looking, and "peek" at the picnic, 
anyhow. That would be better than nothing. 
Polly's " house " was a hollow tree, and she lived in 
it a great deal, and brought as many treasures to it 
as a squirrel does to its hole. She played all sorts 
of games in her house : that it was rainy weather, 
and she could n't go out; that it was night-time, 
and she must make up her bed and go to sleep ; 




that company was coming, and she had to bake 
cake and put on the tea-kettle ; that her children 
were all down with the measles, and she could n't 
get a chance to clean house. 

There was no end to the things Polly "played" 
in her hollow tree ; but one of the best games of 
all was when she played that bears and Indians 
were around. Then she filled up the door of her 
house with bushy green boughs that she broke off 
the young trees, and hid herself behind them. 
She used to pretend that she was terribly frightened, 
and sometimes she pretended so well that she really 
did get frightened, and ran home as fast as if the 
bears and Indians had truly been behind her. It 
was only yesterday that that very thing had hap- 
pened, and the green boughs were still in front of 
Polly's house, just as she had left them when she 
ran away. She remembered it now, and it did not 
take her long to make her way back to the tree. 
She was nimble as a hop-toad, and knew just where 
to go ; so she was safe in her snug hiding-place 
before any one got so much as a glimpse of her. 

Once there, she could see a good deal of what 
was going on, and hear more. The green boughs 
sheltered her, but there were plenty of little open- 
ings through which bright eyes could peep. She 
saw the children running to and fro to gather 
mosses and ferns, and heard their shouts, their 
bursts of merry laughter, their chattering tongues, 
now close by, and now far off. After a while, she 
heard somebody say: 

" S'pose we have the coronation now ; what 's the 
use of waiting till after luncheon ? " 

Then somebody else said, "Well, call the chil- 

And Polly heard a very loud trumpet-blowing, and 
all the boys and girls began to flock together in a 
green open space which was just below her "house." 
She had no idea what a coronation meant ; but 
she thought it the most beautiful thing in the world 
when she heard them all singing, and speaking 
pieces, and saw them dance in a ring around the 
little girl who was chosen Queen of the May. There 
was nothing like that at Susan Ann's picnic, Polly 
was sure ; and she was so happy, looking at the 
coronation, that she quite forgot she was only 
" peeking " at the picnic, and not really in it herself. 

By and by, before she had begun to be tired, 
something else happened. The two tall girls, Lulu 
and Bertha, began to "set the table." They 
spread a long white cloth on the ground, and in 
the middle of it they made a little mound of moss, 
which they stuck full of ferns and wild-flowers. 
Around this they made a circle of oranges, and 
then a ring of little iced cakes, pink, and white, and 
chocolate-colored. At the four corners they had 
heaping plates of sandwiches ; and the rest of the 

cloth was filled up with loaf-cakes, and dishes of 
jelly, and cold chicken, and biscuits, and custard- 
pie. It was a beautiful table when it was all done, 
but oh, how hungry it made Polly feel ! 

" Seems as if I had n't had breakfast to-day," she 
said to herself. " Seems as if I did n't never have 
anything to eat ! Oh dear me ; sakes alive ! " 

" Is it all ready ? Shall we blow the horn ? " she 
heard Lulu say, presently. 

And Bertha answered : 

"Yes — all but the Russian tea. Fetch the 
round basket, Lulu — the brown one, you know. 
The tea is in that, in a covered pail." 

Lulu ran away, somewhere out Of sight, and ran 
back again with a big tin can in her hands — upside 

"See there, now! Didn't I tell you it would 
be safer to bring lemons and sugar, and make the 
lemonade here ? " 

" Why, what 's the matter ? Is it spilled ? " cried 
Bertha, in dismay. 

" Every drop of it. The basket was tipped over 
on its side, and your Russian tea has been watering 
the moss all the morning. So much for not taking 
my advice, Miss Bertha." 

"Oh dear!" groaned Bertha. "Is n't that too 
aggravating? Now there is n't a thing to drink, 
and I 'm as thirsty as a fish already." 

"Just so. And that brook-water is horrid. I 
tasted it." 

" It would have spoiled the lemonade, then, if I 
had taken your advice. That 's one comfort," said 
Bertha, laughing. 

Lulu laughed, too. 

"But that wont quench your thirst," she said. 
"I begin to wish we had let little Polly What 's- 
her-name stay. We might have sent her for some 
water, or milk, or something. " 

" Some of the boys will have to go," said Bertha, 

" Only they wont know where to go. Little Polly 
had the advantage of being a native." 

" What 's a native ? " said Polly to herself, as she 
slipped through the green boughs, and crept around 
behind the hollow tree. "What 's a native, I 
wonder ? Is it anything to drink ? 

She did n't stop to ask anybody ; and she does n't 
know to this day what it meant. She knew some- 
thing better, though — how to return good for evil 
— and the bare little feet went flying through the 
woods as if they had wings. It was churning-day 
at home, and there would be fresh buttermilk ; 
there was always plenty of sweet milk, too ; and 
Polly was n't afraid of what her mother would say. 

Before the picnic had fairly sat down to its lunch- 
eon, — for they wasted a great deal of breath in 
lamenting the Russian tea, and in arguing the 




point whether or not it would have been better to 
bring lemons and sugar, instead, — Polly was back 
again. And such a breathless little Polly ! Her 
cheeks were redder than roses, her hair was all in a 
tousle of damp curls, her Leghorn hat hanging at 
the back of her neck ; for she could not spare a 
hand to put it on her head again when it fell back. 
Both hands were full — a pitcher of fresh, sweet, 
morning's milk in one, in the other a pail of butter- 
milk — and her smile was brighter than sunshine as 
she set them down in front of the astonished party. 

"I didn't come to stay," she said, innocently. 
" I just came to bring you some milk, 'cos your tea 
got spilt." 

And then she turned to go away, for she did n't 
imagine — the dear little Polly ! — that they would 
want her now, any more than they had before ; 
and it was dinner-time at home, and Polly was 
hungry. She turned to go away, but the picnic 
pounced upon her with one jump, and said they 'd 
like to see her try it. 

"Do you suppose," said Lulu, "do you dare to 
suppose, you ridiculous little Polly What 's-your- 
name, that we '11 let you go till we know the mean- 
ing of this richness? Come, now! How did you 
find out that we 'd spilled our tea ? " 

"I was up in my house," said Polly, not a bit 
afraid, for all the faces around her now were smiling 
faces. " I was up in my house, and I heard you." 

She pointed to the hollow tree, which showed the 
hollow, now that the green boughs had tumbled 

" I did n't want to go home till I saw the picnic; 

so I staid in my house, and I heard you," she 
repeated, triumphantly. 

" And then you went home to get the milk for 
us? Now, Bertha; now, children, all of you! " cried 
Lulu, tragically, " I only want to ask you one 
question : did you ever? " 

" No, I never ! " said Bertha, solemnly. 

And all the other girls screamed, "No, we 
never ! " 

And all the boys threw up their hats, and sang 
out, "Hurrah for Little Barefoot! Three cheers 
for Polly Buttermilk ! " 

They made such a noise that the hop-toads went 
skipping to their holes, and the birds went flying to 
the tree-tops, scared out of their seven senses. 

But Polly was n't scared. No, indeed ! She 
laughed, for Lulu took her in her arms, and kissed 
her, and said she was the sweetest little humbug 
that ever lived. And Bertha made her sit down at 
the table between her and the May-queen, and a 
plate was put in her lap, and piled up with the best 
of everything. She had more cake, and custard- 
pie, and jelly than she could have eaten if she had 
been three Polly Millers ; and oh ! what fun, what 
" splcnderiferous " jolly fun, playing with all the 
girls and boys afterward ! 

Never as long as she lives will Polly forget that 
picnic. Susan Ann has no story to tell her now — 
Polly can tell a better one herself; and she does 
tell it to everybody that will listen to her, though 
all her friends and relations know it by heart 
already. As for the folks of that May-party, — well, 
1 don't think they '// forget, either. 

By Fred. A. Ober. 

The eastern coast of Florida, from the St. John's 
River to the Florida Keys, forms one vast stretch 
of sand, broken only by an occasional inlet. There 
are no rocky bluffs nor pebbly beaches ; all is sand, 
washed by the heavy waves of the Gulf-stream — a 
vast body of warm water flowing northwardly from 
the Gulf of Mexico, like a broad river, across, and 
yet in, the ocean. 

This stream brings to Florida's beaches many a 
foreign shell and plant, and makes them doubly 
interesting to stroll upon. Large cocoa-nuts come, 
wrapped in their shaggy outer bark, and full of 
sweet pulp and delicious milk ; and the remarkable 
disk-shaped "sea-beans" are always abundant 

after a gale. This bean forms a fruitful source of 
speculation and revenue to the natives, who hold it 
to be a product of the ocean depths, and sell it to 
wondering visitors, after carefully polishing it. But 
it is only a waif from the Antilles — the fruit of a 
vine whose pods, full of these beans, fall into the 
sea and are drifted hither by the Gulf-stream. 

A walk along any beach, with the roar of the 
mighty surf filling our ears and inspiring reverence, 
and only the sights and sounds of nature to enter- 
tain us, is always profitable. Our eyes notice little 
things that elsewhere would pass unobserved. We 
examine the tiny circles traced by the leaf-points of 
the beach-grass, as they are borne down by the 




wind ; the timid beach-birds, as they pause upon 
one foot, eying us suspiciously, or scurry by with 
a pipe of alarm ; the bulky pelicans, that stand in 
long rows on the sand-bars, or, flying clumsily atop 


of the waves, drop with a splash upon unwary fishes, 
gulping them up with their pouched bills. Beau- 
tiful shells of every hue — blue, purple, scarlet, 
crimson, orange, yellow, and pearly white — lie in 
windrows tossed up by the steady surf, or where 
the latest gale has heaped them high upon the 
sand. A curious, earth-colored crab runs rapidly 
to his hole in the dry sand from the water just in 
front of us, where he has been fishing, brandishing 
his claws most threateningly as he waltzes along in 
his funny, sidelong style. 

Do you see these depressions in the sand, looking 
as though some one had thrown out a trowel-full of 
sand every foot or two, and this broad line marked 
between the regular rows ? That is the trail of 
the huge sea-turtle, as she comes out of the ocean 
in the spring to lay her eggs. And narrow escapes 
from death she has, between her two enemies, bears 
and men, while she is at this duty. Run a small 
stick into the sand, where you notice this exca- 
vation, and see if you strike anything. If success- 
ful, you get a large half-bushel of round, white 
eggs, covered with a leathery skin, instead of a 
brittle shell. They make a good omelet, and are 
much sought after. Those other depressions, such 
as one might make with his closed hand, but larger, 
are the tracks of a bear. Bruin walks the beach 
during the turtling months, and robs every nest on 
his route. The dweller on the Florida coast may 
lose his share of turtles' eggs, but he lies in wait 
for the shaggy thief on moonlight nights, and 
enjoys exciting sport in shooting him. 

Far down the beach, something reflects rainbow 
hues, and, only stopping to glance at a stranded 
" ship of pearl," the fabled Argonaut, we go toward 
it. It proves to be the Portuguese man-of-war * 
— a sac or bubble of thin, 
transparent skin as large as 
one's fist, filled with air. 
When alive, this bubble has 
long tentacles or hanging 
arms, which, with the body, 
are gorgeously colored — 
pink, blue, and violet; even 
in death, the sun playing 
over it causes a charming 
iridescence. Well are they 
named "sea-nettles," for 
those tentacles are extremely 
poisonous, causing the hand 
that touches them to swell 
and smart for several hours 

A hundred other charm- 
ing objects claim notice. I 
want to turn your eyes par- 
ticularly to two of the least 
noticeable, and which are excellently represented 
in the engraving. The figure on the left-hand 
is that of a beautiful mollusk called the "violet 
snail," — lan-Thina communis, in Latin. It is a 
small shell, and would hardly attract a glance 
were it not for its rich violet hue and its attachment 
of what appears to be a group or string of bubbles 
of sea-foam. Closer examination shows us that 
these supposed "bubbles" are a collection of filmy 
little air-cells, proceeding from the mouth of the 
snail within the shell. They serve several impor- 
tant purposes. 

The violet snail lives all over the Atlantic Ocean, 
and in the Mediterranean, floating about in the 
open sea. It does not sustain itself by constantly 
moving hither and thither, but is upheld by means 
of this buoyant structure of air-cells to which it is 
attached. Excepting in the most violent storms, 
the snail thus floats about unconcerned ; and when 
the water is too rough for his comfort, he can suck 
the air out of the cells and sink to quiet depths. 
It is a very great convenience to him. 

Besides performing the duty of a raft, this bundle 
of air-cells becomes a sort of family nursery, for to 
its under surface are glued the egg-cases out of 
which the young are hatched. These cases contain 
eggs and young mollusks in all stages of advance- 
ment — those farthest from the parent-shell being 
nearly ready to own a raft of their own, and em- 
bark upon it, while those nearest are totally 

This little mollusk is said to have no eyes ; and 

* See " Jack-in-the-Pulpit " for March, 18 



in its aimless, wandering life, guided at the whims 
of wave and wind, it would often go hungry but 
for the fact that its food, minute jelly-fishes, exists 
in countless profusion over the whole wide surface 
of the ocean. Its body contains a few drops of 
violet fluid, which will hold its color for many 
years, and is sometimes used as ink. 

The little picture-mate of this interesting rafts- 
man, somewhat resembling a butterfly in form, is 
one of a small group of mollusks called pteropods 
(wing-footed), on account of the fin-like lobes or 
wings that project from their fragile shells, as 
shown in the engraving. The pteropod uses these 
wings to fly through the water, just as an insect 
flies in the air. Pteropods are found swimming 
in enormous bands, sometimes filling the surface 
of the sea for leagues in extent ; generally these 
great congregations occur in the deep, warm waters 
of the torrid zone ; but one species, at least, lives 
northward, for it forms the chief food of the great 
Greenland whale. Another species, having a 
glassy, transparent shell, carries a little luminous 
globe, which emits a gleam of soft light. It is the 
only known species of luminous shell-fish. Our 
little friend, represented in this cut, has no lantern 
to light him on his way ; he is remarkable only for 
his wings, and his two tails, which grow through 
two holes in his shell, and trail behind him. His 
Latin name is Hyalea tri- 
dentata. If, as his family 
name implies, he really 
were wing-footed, we might 
call him the Mercury of 
the sea. 

Another curiosity found 
in these waters is the por- 
cupine-fish. It is often said 
by old fishermen and sail- 
ors that every living object 
found on land has its coun- 
terpart in the ocean. They 
tell of sea-cucumbers and 
sea-corn, sea-grapes and sea- 
beans, which, the simple- 
hearted old sailor declares, 
exactly resemble the pride 
of the little garden patches 
tended by his wife ashore 
while he is away. 

And it is true that many of the inhabitants of 
the ocean do bear more than an imaginary resem- 
blance to many things found on land. The corals, 
sponges, and anemones often look much like 
flowers or ferns, while various fishes owe their 
names to th'eir likeness to certain terrestrial ani- 
mals. Among these is the porcupine-fish. 

This prickly-looking creature is one of an order 
of strange fishes containing the sun-fish (not the 
"sun-jelly" or medusa, so common upon our 
coast), the globe-fish, the file-fish, and trunk-fish — 
each named from some peculiarity of shape, or 
fancied resemblance to a familiar object. Most of 
these fishes are covered with spines, or bony pro- 
tuberances, which make them very ugly customers 
to handle. Some of them possess a peculiar power 
of inflating themselves with air, swelling up to twice 
their natural size. 

The globe-fish is the best illustration of this 
strange faculty. It swims near the bottom, next to 
shore, all its life, and is either so fearless or so stupid 
that it may be lifted up in one's hand. When so 
taken out of the water and gently rubbed, it will 
swell up to its full capacity, until you really fear it 
may burst. Leave the creature undisturbed, and 
in a short time it will allow the air to escape, and 
shrink into almost nothing but a bony skeleton 
covered with skin. 

The porcupine-fish, which belongs to the* same 
family, as I have already said, inhabits the warm 
waters about the Bahama Islands and the coast of 
Florida, where it is called among the inhabitants 
by a variety of titles. 

The name I have chosen, however, seems to be 
the most appropriate, since its spiny protuberances 


do remind one who looks at it, and much more one 
who touches it, of the bristling quills of the porcu- 
pine. It is not a large fish, being less than a foot 
in length, and generally as broad (or round) as it 
is long. Its scientific name is Diodon hysirix, the 
second word being, as you young students may 
know, the Latin name of the hedgehog. 




By Palmer Cox. 

" i ■ i'i 1 l|W'|' 

There lived a queer old king, 
Who used to skip and swing, 
And "dance before the fiddle," and all that sort of thing. 

In princely robes arrayed, 
The games of youth he played, 
And mingled with the low buffoons at fair or masquerade. 

His royal back he 'd stoop 
To chase a rolling hoop, 
Or romp in merry leap-frog with the wildest of the group. 




At last, a cunning clown 
Got hold of mace and crown, 
And instantly the people hailed him monarch of the town. 

Because the crown he wore, 
And royal scepter bore, 
All took him for the romping king they 'd honored heretofore. 

His Majesty would rave, 
And bellow "Fool!" and "Slave!" 
But still the people bowed and scraped around the painted knave. 

Well might the sovereign yell, 
And threaten prison cell, 
And rope, and ax, and gibbet; — but he could not break the spell. 

So passed his power away, 
His subjects and his sway, 
For king was clown, and clown was king, until their dying day. 





By Clara Erskine Clement. 



BEFORE leaving the subject of ancient sculpture, 
I wish to speak of some other beautiful works 
which are still preserved, and which the illustra- 
tions here given will help you to understand. The 
first is from the frieze of the temple of Minerva, or 
Pallas, at Egina. This word was formerly spelled 
yEgina, and is the name of an island in the Gulf 
of Egina, near the south-west coast of Greece. Its 
chief city was also called Egina, and here a beauti- 
ful Doric temple was built about 475 B. c, which 
was the period of the greatest prosperity and 
importance of the island. 

Many of the columns of this temple are still 
standing, but large parts of it have fallen down ; 
in 181 1 these ruins were examined, and some fine 
pieces of sculptured marble were obtained, which 
are the most remarkable works still existing from so 
early a period. Thorwaldsen, the Danish sculptor, 
restored these marbles, and the King of Bavaria 
purchased them ; they are now in the Glyptothek, 
or Museum of Sculpture, at Munich. 

The two figures given above formed a part of what 
is called the western pediment of the temple ; this 
pediment contained a group of eleven figures, 
almost life-size, and represented in spirited action. 
I ought to tell you that a pediment is the trian- 
gular space which is formed by the slanting of the 
two sides of the roof up to the ridge-piece, at the 
ends of buildings, and in the Greek temples the 
pediment was usually much ornamented, and gave 
a fine opportunity for large groups. 

The figures in the center were the most impor- 
tant actors in the scene or story represented by the 
sculptures, and were of full size, and usually stand- 

ing ; then, as the space on each side became 
narrower, the figures were arranged in positions to 
suit it, and the whole composition was so fitted 
into the slant as to produce a regular and symmet- 
rical outline ; thus the whole effect when com- 
pleted was grand and imposing, as well as very 
ornamental to the building. 

The figures in this western pediment of the tem- 
ple at Egina illustrated an episode in the story of 
the Trojan War; it was the struggle of Ajax, 
Ulysses, and other Greeks, with the Trojan war- 
riors, over the dead body of Achilles. The Greeks 
ardently desired to possess themselves of the body 
of their brave leader, in order to give it a fitting 
burial, and they succeeded in bearing it off to theit 
own camp. 

The myth relates that the god Apollo guided 
the arrow of Paris which killed Achilles, who could 
only be wounded in his ankles, because when his 
mother, the goddess Thetis, dipped him in the 
river Styx to make him invulnerable, or safe from 
being hurt by weapons, she held him by the ankles, 
and as they were the only parts of his body not 
wetted, it was only in them that he could be 

It is believed that the warrior in this picture who 
is about to send his arrow, is Paris ; he wears the 
curved Phrygian helmet and a close-fitting suit of 
mail ; in the whole group there is but one other 
clothed warrior, all the rest are nude. The highest 
part of this pediment has the figure of the goddess 
Minerva, or Pallas, standing beside the fallen body 
of Achilles, which she attempts to cover with her 
shield, while a Trojan warrior tries to draw the 



body away from the Greek who opposes him. The 
two figures in our plate are placed at one side, 
where the space in the triangle is growing narrow. 
You can imagine what spirit there must be in the 
whole group, when there is so much in these two 
comparatively small figures ; how sure we are that 
the arrow will shoot out with deadly, power, and 
how the second warrior is bracing himself on his 
feet and knee, and leaning forward, in order to 
thrust his lance with all possible force ! 

These Eginetan statues have traces of color and 
of metal ornaments about them. The hair, eyes, 
and lips were colored, and all the weapons, helmets, 
shields, and quivers were red or blue, and some 
portions of the garments of the goddess show that 
the statue must have had bronze ornaments. We 
know nothing of the artists who made these sculpt- 
ures, but critics and scholars think that the works 
resemble the written descriptions of the statues 
made by Callon, who was a famous sculptor of 
Egina, and lived probably about the time in which 
the temple was built. 

The next four illustrations are from the sculpt- 
ures of the Parthenon, the beautiful temple at 
Athens, which was mentioned in the first paper of 
these stories. This temple was completed in 437 
B. C, a little later than that at Egina. The Par- 
thenon passed through many changes before it was 
reduced to its present condition of ruin. Probably 
about the sixth century of our era, it was dedicated 
to the Virgin Mary and used as a Christian church 
until, in 1456 A. D., the Turks transformed it into 
a Mohammedan mosque. In 1687 the Venetians 
besieged Athens ; the Turks had stored gunpow- 
der in the eastern chamber of the Parthenon, and 
a bomb thrown by the Venetians fell through the 
roof, and set fire to the powder, which exploded, 
and completely destroyed the center of the temple. 
Then Morosini, the commander of the Venetians, 
attempted to carry off some of the finest sculptures 
of the western pediment, but in lowering them to 
the ground they were allowed to fall by the unskill- 
ful Venetians, and thus were broken in pieces. 

Early in the present century, Lord Elgin carried 
many of the Parthenon marbles to England, and 
in 1 8 16 they all were bought by the British 
Museum. Finally, in 1827, during the rebellion 
of the Greeks against the Turks, Athens was 
again bombarded and the Parthenon still further 
destroyed, so that those who now visit it can only 

" Go forth and wander through the cold remains 
Of fallen statues and of tottering fanes, 
Seek the loved haunts of poet and of sage. 
The gay palaestra and the gaudy stage ! 
What signs are there ? A solitary stone, 
A shattered capital, with grass o'ergrown, 
A mouldering frieze, half hid in ancient dust, 
A thistle springing o'er a nameless bust; 

Yet this was Athens ! Still a holy spell 
Breathes in the dome, and wanders in the dell, 
And vanished times and wondrous forms appear, 
And sudden echoes charm the waking ear; 
Decay itself is drest in glory's gloom, 
For every hillock is a hero's tomb, 
And every breeze to Fancy's slumber brings 
The mighty rushing of a spirit's wings." 

The British Museum now contains very nearly 
all that are left of the sculptures of the two pedi- 
ments of this magnificent temple. The torso which 
is pictured below is believed to be that of a statue 
of Theseus. 

Torso is a term used in sculpture to denote a 
mutilated figure. This figure made a part of the 
group of the front or eastern pediment of the 
temple, in which the story of the birth of Minerva 
was represented. This goddess is said to have 
sprung forth, all armed, from the head of Zeus, or 
Jupiter, and it is fitting that Theseus should be rep- 
resented as present on the occasion, since he was 
the greatest hero, and the king, of Athens, of which 
city Minerva was the protecting goddess. All the 
sculptures of the Parthenon, as you will remember, 
are attributed to the great sculptor Phidias, and 
his school, and arc very beautiful. 

Next come three illustrations from the frieze of 
the Parthenon. Perhaps you know that a frieze is 
a band extending below a cornice, which runs 
around the outside of a building, or the inside of 
an apartment. The cornice is placed high up 
where the roof joins the sides of a building, or 
where the ceiling joins the walls of a room ; the 
frieze is just below, and may be very narrow or 
broad, as the proportions of the object it ornaments 
require. The sculptured frieze of the Parthenon 


was outside of the walls of the temple or the cella, 
as it is called in architecture, and was about five 
hundred and twenty-two feet long, and three feet 




and four inches broad. About four hundred feet 
of this are still preserved, so that a good idea of it 
can be formed. The portions of this frieze which 

conquests of the giants ; in later days, when the 
Athenians wished to flatter a man, they sometimes 
had his likeness embroidered on the peplos, in the 


were carried to England were taken down in slabs. 
The subject represented is the chief procession of 
the Panathenaea,* which was the most important 
of all the festivals celebrated at Athens. 

The festival continued several days, which were 
passed in horse-racing, cock-fighting, gymnastic 
and musical contests, and a great variety of games ; 
poets, also, recited their rhapsodies, and philos- 
ophers disputed over their doctrines in public 
places ; but its chief purpose was to carry in pro- 
cession, up to the Parthenon, the garment woven 

company of the gods ; but this never occurred while 
the people were yet uncorrupted by wealthy rulers. 
The procession which attended the presentation 
of the peplos at the temple was as splendid as all 
the wealth, nobility, youth, and beauty of Athens 
could make it ; a vast multitude attended it, some 
in chariots, others on horses, and large numbers 
on foot. The noblest maidens bore baskets and 
vases containing offerings for the goddess ; aged 
men carried olive-branches ; while the young men, 
in full armor, appeared as if ready to do battle for 


and embroidered for the great goddess by the Minerva. The peplos was not borne by hands,' but 

maidens of the city. was suspended from the mast of a ship which was 

This garment was called a peplos, and was made moved along on the land, some writers say by 

of a crocus-colored stuff, on which were embroi- means of machinery placed under-ground. When 

dered the figures of the gods engaged in their the procession reached the temple, the splendid 

* See the story, " Myrto's Festival," St. Nicholas for December, 1880. 




garment was placed upon the statue of the god- 

During the festival of the Panathenaja, prisoners 
were allowed to enjoy freedom, and such men as 

these plates ; — and, finally, the procession ended 
with numbers of youths on horseback, riding gayly 
along, and, in one portion, there were others still 
occupied in bridling their steeds, mounting, and 


merited the gratitude of the republic were then 
rewarded by the gift of gold crowns, their names 
being announced by the heralds during the gym- 
nastic games. We do not know exactly the order 
in which all the ceremonies were observed, but it 
is believed that the procession of the peplos was 
celebrated on the last day of the festival. 

It is probable that this frieze was executed from 
a design by Phidias. Near the entrance on the 
east there was an assemblage of the gods, in whose 
presence the peplos was being presented to the 
guardians of the temple; near them were the 

making other preparations to join the cavalcade. 
The wonderful excellence of the design of this great 
work is a subject of which art-lovers never weary ; 
and certainly it is most remarkable that in this great 
number of figures, no two can be said to resemble 
each other, and that there are such an endless variety 
of positions, and so much spirited action in it all. 
The whole work bears marks of having been pro- 
duced in the time when sculpture reached its 

There is at Athens a work of a later period than 
the Parthenon, and much smaller and less impor- 


heralds and officers of the procession ; then there 
were groups of animals for sacrifice, and, again, 
groups of people ; — sometimes they were lovely 
maidens bearing their gifts on their shoulders, or 
musicians playing on the flute, as seen in one of 

tant than a temple, which also is very interesting: 
it is the Choragic Monument of Lysicrates. It is 
decorated with some very amusing scenes from the 
life of Bacchus, and was erected in the year 334 
B. c, when Lysicrates was choragus ; that is to 




say, when it was his office to provide the chorus for 
the plays which were represented at Athens. The 
duties of this office were arduous and expensive : he 
had first to find and bring together the members 
of the chorus, then to have them instructed in the 
music, and to provide proper food for them while 
they studied. 

The choragus who presented the finest musical 
entertainment received a tripod as his reward, 
and it was customary to build a monument upon . 
which to place the tripod, as a lasting honor to 
the choragus to whom it had been given. There 
was in Athens a street formed by a line of these 
monuments, called the "Street of the Tripods." 
It was the custom to dedicate these tripods to some 
divinity, and that of Lysicrates was devoted to 
Bacchus. The sculptures represent him seated, 
playing with a lion. 

While the handsome young god thus amuses 
himself, his companions, the Satyrs, are engaged 
in punishing the Tyrrhenian pirates, who, accord- 
ing to the myth, attempted to sell Bacchus for a 
slave. In order to revenge himself, he changed 
their masts and oars into serpents, and himself into 
a lion ; then music was heard, and ivy grew all 
over the vessel, while the pirates went mad and 
were changed into dolphins. The frieze on the 
monument shows the Satyrs venting their anger on 
the pirates ; some have branches of trees with 
which to beat the unlucky victims, — one pirate is 
being dragged into the sea by one leg, — some of 
them are already half changed into dolphins, and 
leap into the water with great readiness ; those with 
heads of dolphins and with human bodies are very 
queer, and the whole design is full of humor and 
lively action. Bacchus was regarded as the patron 
of plays and theaters, and, indeed, the Greek drama 
grew out of the choruses which were sung at his 

In comparison with all the works of art which 
exist in the world, the remaining pieces of Greek 
sculpture are so few that those people who love 
and study them know about every one, and almost 
consider them as they do their friends from whom 

they are separated. Among these famous sculpt- 
ures is the statue of the Apollo Belvedere. It is 
such a favorite with all the world, and copies of it 
are so common, that I fancy you must know it 

This statue was found about the end of the fif- 
teenth century, in the ruins of ancient Antium. 
The Cardinal della Rovere, who was afterward 
Pope Julius II., bought it and placed it in the 
palace of the Belvedere, in Rome ; from this fact 
the statue took its present name; the Belvedere 
was afterward joined to the Vatican, in the museum 
of which palace the Apollo now stands. We do 
not know who made this statue, but its beauty and 
excellence, and, above all, the intellectual quality 
of the expression on the god's countenance, prove 
that it belonged to a very high age in art — probably 
to the early imperial period. 

There has been much speculation as to what the 
god held in his left hand, and it was formerly said 
to have been a bow ; but more recent discoveries 
lead to the belief that it was the asgis or shield, 
with the head of Medusa upon it. With this he is 
discomfiting a host of enemies, for, according to 
Homer, this aegis was sometimes lent to Apollo by 
Jupiter, and all who gazed on it were paralyzed by 
fear, or turned to stone ; thus he who held it could 
vanquish an army. 

In the story of Apollo, it is related that, when the 
Gauls invaded Greece, and threatened to destroy 
the shrine of Apollo at Delphi, the people appealed 
to the gods, and when they asked Apollo what they 
should do to save the treasures which had been 
dedicated to him, he replied: "I myself will take 
care of them, and of the temple virgins ! " So it hap- 
pened that while the battle was in progress, a great 
storm arose, and the thunder and lightning were 
frightful, and hail and snow were added to all the 
rest, and in the midst of this war of Nature and of 
men, Apollo was seen to descend to his temple, 
accompanied by the goddesses Diana and Minerva; 
then the Gauls were seized with such fear that they 
took to flight, and the shrine of the god escaped 
injury at the hands of its barbarian assailants. 

(To be continued.') 



By William O. Stoddard. 

Chapter I. 

" I WONT ! " 

Mr. Hayne, the new teacher, was a tall, fine- 
looking young man, with short, curling black 
hair, and brilliant, penetrating eyes. 

He seemed, in spite of the quiet smile on his lips, 
to be looking right through the young culprit before 

"You wont? " 

Charley Ferris was not smiling at all, but looked 
a good deal like a sort of boyish embodiment of the 
two big words for which he had been called up 
before the school. 

The very top of his head, and every inch of his 
short, sturdy frame seemed to utter them, and his 
bright, saucy, handsome face had taken on a 
desperately obstinate expression. 

" You wont apologize to Joseph Martin ? " 

Not a word came from Charley's tight-shut lips, 
but his black eyes were making all the answer 

"That will do," said Mr. Hayne, in a calm, 
steady voice. " We are all gentlemen. If any one 
of us has not self-control enough to behave him- 
self, or if he is too much of a coward to apologize 
when he is wrong, he does not belong here." 

The defiant look was fading a little in the eyes 
of the young rebel by the time Mr. Hayne ceased 

The new "select school," with its sixteen 
scholars, had been open barely a week, and this 
was its first case of serious misconduct. 

Mr. Hayne may have expected something of the 
kind, sooner or later, and, now it had come, he met 
it with a firm intention of making it, as nearly as 
possible, the last case also, and therefore of im- 
mense value. 

"You may take your books and go home, Mr. 

Charley was already turning in his tracks, and 
he now marched steadily away toward his desk, but 
the boy in the next one to it sprang to his feet. 

"Mr. Hayne?" 

" Mr. Martin." 

" I hope not, sir. Not on my account " 

"Sit down, Mr. Martin. It is not on your 
account at all. It is simply because he is not 
manly enough to do right." 

Charley Ferris had been vaguely aware, up to 
that moment, of a feeling that he had shown won- 

derful manliness in defying his teacher, but he 
knew now, and without looking around him, that 
the public opinion of the boys was against him. 

That, too, although he was by all odds a more 
popular boy than the quiet and studious youth of 
fourteen, a year older than himself, whom he had 
offensively described as "Miss Nancy," loudly 
enough for half the school to hear. 

It was a terrible thing — a punishment about 
equal to a sentence of Siberian banishment — to be 
compelled to gather his books, dictionary and all, 
and strap them together before the eyes of such a 
jury as that, and then to have to walk out of the 
school-room with them. 

Charley was a plucky fellow, however, and he 
worked right on, conscious that everybody was 
looking at him, until his pile was complete. 

" Caesar's Commentaries " came at the top, and 
the strap was barely long enough to draw across 
it and through the buckle. He got it through, and 
was straining to put the tongue of the buckle into 
the first hole, when his fingers slipped, and his 
whole pack of text-books scattered itself upon the 

Joe Martin and two or three other boys forgot 
the proprieties of the school-room in their haste to 
pick up the fallen volumes, but their owner had 
lost all there was left of his unlucky heroism when 
the end of that strap slipped away from him. 

He sat down instantly, his curly head was bowed 
upon his hands on the desk, and he was sobbing 

A quick step came down from the little platform 
at the other end of the room, and a strong, kindly 
hand was laid upon the rebel's curly head. 

" I think, Mr. Ferris, you did not finish what 
you meant to say." 

Sob, — sob, — sob. 

"Had you not better do it now? You began 
with, ' I wont,' and I think the rest must have 
been, ' do a mean thing.' Am I not right?" 

" Yes, sir. Joe 's a real good fellow," sobbed 
Charley Ferris. 

"Young gentlemen," said Mr. Hayne, as he 
looked smilingly around him, " I do not think we ' 
need any further apology from Mr. Ferris, but I 
hope you understand the matter fully. I am here 
to teach, not to scold nor to flog. Your behavior 
is under your own care. Politeness to one another 
is all that we ask for. Absolute self-government, 
—that 's all. " 




It was a short lesson, but every boy in the room 
understood it. 

In fact, a perception of Mr. Hayne's peculiar 
views had been growing upon them from the be- 
ginning, and they had discussed the matter among 
themselves pretty freely that very morning. 

"Got to govern ourselves!" remarked John 

There was weight in that, for Andy was the 
" star boy," as well as the oldest, and he was 
looked upon with a good deal of veneration, as 
being very nearly ready for college. It had been 
even hinted, doubtfully, that he would "enter 
Sophomore," a whole year in advance, after Mr. 
Hayne should have finished with him. Such a boy 

"a strong, kindly hand was laid upon the rebel's curly head." 

Deny, the one boy in school who seemed least 
likely to do it. "I 'd like to know how we can 
manage that, and no rules to go by, either." 

"Rules!" exclaimed Andy Wright. "What 
do we want with rules ? The youngest boy in the 
lot is over thirteen. I 'm sixteen now, and I think 
I knew enough to be decent, three years ago." 

as that was entitled to express his opinions, and 
Will Torrance backed him up with : 

"You see, boys, if he 'd make a lot of rules, 
and write 'em out, we 'd all feel in duty bound to 
break them, sooner or later. We have n't a thing 
to break now." 

Such an experiment might have been dangerous 




with another selection of boys, but the sixteen now 
gathered under Mr. Hayne were in some respects 

The little inland city of Saltillo had been 
promoted but recently from the lower rank of 
"village," and, although it contained several 
thousands of people, whose houses were sprinkled 
over a pretty wide area, it could boast of neither 
"high school" nor "academy." The district 
schools were fairly good, but did not answer every 
purpose. One consequence had been the special 
prosperity of the Wedgewood School, half a mile 
away, on the other side of town, and another, 
lately, the establishment of Mr. Hayne's select 
school for the "Park boys." 

All the other boys in town knew them by that 
name, by reason of the fact that they lived in the 
vicinity of a neatly kept and "fenced-in" open 
square, with a fountain in the middle of it, and 
were a good deal inclined to be clannish. 

Until the arrival of Mr. Hayne, the Park boys 
had managed, somehow, to recognize other fellows, 
living in other parts of the city, as human beings, 
but there was danger that they would hardly be 
able to do so much longer. 

Moreover, if any one of them, more than an- 
other, had resolved himself into an exponent of the 
Park feeling, with possible doubts as to whether 
he ought to be fenced-in and fountained, that boy 
had been Charle) r Ferris. All the deeper, there- 
fore, had been the gulf which seemed to gape be- 
fore him while he was trying to put the strap 
around his books. 

Those of the volumes which had fallen on the 
floor had now been picked up for him, and while 
Mr. Hayne returned to his seat and called for the 
class in geometry, the whole pile was fast hiding 
itself away again under the lid of his desk. 

Charley had fully received and accepted his 
lesson, and so had most of the others, but John 
Derry was satirically wiping his eyes with his 
handkerchief, and whispering to his " next boy" : 

"Walk chalk, after this ! " 

The school-room was a quiet place for the re- 
mainder of that forenoon, and the several recita- 
tions were performed with a degree of exactness 
that was all that could be asked for, if it could in 
any way be made habitual. 

The room itself was a pleasant one, large 
enough, but not too large, in the basement of the 
new Congregational meeting-house, and the sunny 
alley-way from the door of it led to an iron gate, 
directly opposite the "Park" entrance. 

Around that precious inclosure were a number 
of pleasant residences, all detached, and some 
with grounds and shrubbery. 

Take it all in all, the little school and its neigh- 

Vol. VIII.— 36. 

borhood were a thoroughly good example of the 
best results of what deserves to be called "Ameri- 
can civilization." 

Mr. Hayne had undertaken to teach that lot of 
bright young fellows how to work, and his first . 
lesson had been that, to be a good worker, a man 
needs first to get his faculties under his own 

" I wont do any driving," he told them. 
" Every man of you must step forward of his own 
free will. That 's what you will have to do when 
I get through with you, and you had better begin 

He knew, what they did not, that there is no 
earthly "driving" equal to that which the right 
kind of boy or man will give himself if he is once 
properly set about it. 

Chapter II. 
Court Rivalries. 

The young ladies of Miss Offerman's Female 
Seminary, a square or so above the Park, had 
matter for serious thought and conversation at that 
day's noon recess. 

Even the necessity of eating luncheon and getting 
back by one o'clock did not prevent a knot of them 
from lingering on one of the upper corners of the 
Park, in what looked very much like a " council." 

" You see, Dora, Belle Roberts was May Oueen 
last year. Mr. Ayring thinks it wont do to have 
another of us this time." 

"I don't see why, Sarah. Has he said so to 
anybody? " 

" Madame Skinner says he has. He wants one 
of his music class or one of her scholars. I sup- 
pose he does n't want to offend all that Wedgewood 

" No girls go there." 

" But their brothers do." 

" I have n't a brother, Sarah Dykeman, nor you 

The other girls were listening, thus far. Dora 
was the tallest of them all, by half a head, and her 
blooming cheeks gave token not only of a high 
degree of health, but of a more than half resentful 
excitement over the matter in hand. 

Sarah Dykeman was of slighter frame, with 
what is called an intellectual cast of features, and 
with an easy grace of manner that was already 
doing more to make her the awe of her school-girl 
friends than was even the acknowledged beauty of 
Belle Roberts, who was now standing a little behind 
her, as she said : 

" Mr. Ayring will probably have his own way." 




"Belle," exclaimed Dora, "has Jack told you 
what he and the boys mean to do ? " 

" No, but I '11 ask him. They '11 be sure to pick 
out one of us." 

"They wont care a fig for Mr. Ayring," re- 
marked a smaller girl. 

"They'll be outvoted," said Belle. "He has 
more than two hundred names on his singing-list 

"Two hundred! 1 should say so. And some 
of them are hardly more than babies," snapped 

"They all vote," said Belle. "They did last 
year, and they '11 do just what he tells them." 

" The boys can't run you again, Belle," said 
Dora, thoughtfully. " There 's only half a dozen 
for them to pick from. Most likely it '11 be Sarah 
— or me." 

"Jenny Sewell is pretty," suggested Belle. 
" She 'd make a nice little May Queen." 

" She ! She 's a doll. She 's almost as old as 
I am, and she 's a head shorter than Sarah." 

The other tongues were rapidly getting loosened, 
and suggestions of available names were by no 
means lacking. It was even noticeable how many 
seemed to occur to the mind of Belle Roberts, and 
how they all seemed to lack something or other in 
the large blue eyes of Dora Keys. 

It was a little more than probable that Dora 
had formed a clear notion in her own mind as to 
the required qualities of a May Queen for that 
year. That is, she should be tall for her age, very 
good-looking, with a full, musical voice for her rec- 
itation, — and, in fact, to be absolutely perfect, her 
first name had better be Dora than anything else. 

It was enough to provoke a saint — of the name 
of Dora — to have Sarah Dykeman remark, so 
calmly : 

" It is Mr. Ayring's own exhibition. He gets it 
up to help his business, I suppose, or he 'd never 
take the trouble." 

"He makes the money," added Belle, "and 
the children get the fun." 

That was about the whole truth of the May Fes- 
tival business. The enterprising teacher of vocal 
music and dealer in all other music and the instru- 
ments thereof had managed, for several successive 
years, to revive the dead-and-gone custom of 
choosing and crowning a May Queen. The ac- 
companying exercises of song and recitation were 
performed amid as liberal a show of flowers and 
green leaves as the season and the local hot-houses 
would permit. As to popular interest, he was sure 
of filling the largest hall in Saltillo, at a moderate 
price for tickets, with the friends and relations of 
his numerous juvenile performers. 

The social interest attending the several "elec- 

tions," in a limited community like that of Saltillo, 
had been productive, as a matter of course, of 
rivalries and heart-burnings not a few. The present 
occasion bade fair to rival any predecessor in that 
respect, and its time was at hand, since even a May 
Queen, her maids of honor, ladies in waiting, 
marshals, heralds, and all that sort of magnif- 
icence, required to be taught and trained for their 
parts, just as court persons do in real life. 

Mr. Ayring was a shrewd man, and anxious to 
avoid giving offense, and if there was one thing 
clearer to him than another, it was that the Park — 
girls and boys — had had glory enough the year 

The crown could not safely be sent in among 
any of Miss Offerman's pupils, and even he him- 
self was not half so positive on that point as were 
the young lady attendants at Madame Skinner's 
rival "seminary," only two squares away from 
the Wedgewood School. 

Every one of these, indeed, whose years entitled 
her to aspire to royal honors, felt more kindly 
toward all the world, that very morning, when the 
Madame mentioned the matter from the rostrum, 
after the usual religious exercises. 

" Only one of you can be chosen, my dear young 
ladies, and you cannot yet guess which of you will 
win the prize." 

Her further remarks were well-timed and judi- 
cious, but Mr. Ayring had been trying to make a 
close guess at the name of the winner. 

" Fanny Swayne would look splendidly on a 
platform. She 's been away at boarding-school, 
but that wont hurt. Jim Swayne goes to the 
Wedgewood, and there can't be much fuss made. 
She '11 do. She knows how to dress, too." 

What if Mr. Ayring had known that Jim and 
Fanny already had the matter under discussion ? 

Jim was the head boy of the Wedgwood in all 
matters which did not too closely relate to books, 
and was, therefore, sure of rallying an active 
"boy interest" to the support of his candidate, 
whoever she might be. Smaller boys who might 
have preferences were not likely to air them in the 
presence of a tongue and hand so ready and so 
efficient as his. 

" I '11 fix it for you, Fanny," he had said to her, 
and so it was hardly by accident that he and Mr. 
Ayring had a talk that day, near the latter's music- 
store, during the noon recess. 

The subject opened a little rapidly under such 

"We must keep still about it till the election, 
Jim, but I '11 tell you what I 'm doing. " 

He held out a small, white, shining bit of 
enameled card-board. . 

" We '11 have your sister's name printed on 




these, for ballots. All the rest '11 waste time 
writing out their tickets, and the little folks would 
rather vote these anyhow. By the time the big 
ones are ready with their written tickets, the voting 
will be pretty much all done." 

It looked as though such a splendid piece of 
electioneering strategy as that made sure of the 
defeat of the Park boys, no matter whom they 
might agree upon, and Jim was jubilant. 

"All I want of you, Jim, is to see that I have 
three or four smart boys on hand to distribute 
tickets. I '11 try and manage to have half a dozen 
other girls run, and all Fanny will need will be to 
come out highest on the list." 

Cunning Mr. Ayring ! 

That very day he took his tickets to the printing 
office of the Daily Trumpet, and never paused to 
consider that Mr. Carroll, the editor and proprietor 
of that journal, was also the father of Mr. Jefferson 
Carroll, and that the latter was member of Mr. 
Hayne's "Sixteen." 

Very important results will sometimes come from 
a very small oversight. 

Chapter III. 

Dealing with Highway Robbery. 

V yc^ OUTH — especially mascu- 
v ^3 line youth — is apt to 

be pugnacious. A little 
before the close of the 
noon recess that day, 
there were two good-sized 
boys on the north-west 
corner of the Park, engaged 
in a tussle, while a third, 
about as small a specimen 
of boyish mischief as could be 
expected to wear trousers, was 
dancing around them, in what 
looked like an impish endeavor 
to throw a small clod into some 
part of the skirmish. Then followed a "clinch," 
a tug, a roll on the ground, while the small clod 
was not in the small boy's right hand any longer, 
but, instead thereof, both hands were hugging to 
his bosom a monkey-faced cocoa-nut, in its shaggy 

" Have you got it, Pug?" 

" I've got it !" 

" Let go my hair !" 

" You let small boys alone, then — will you ?" 

" He 's no brother o' yourn." 

" Let him alone, that's all." 

" Hit him again, Jack Roberts ! Hit him again ! " 

There was a great deal of resentment in the 
excited face and tone of Pug Merriweathcr, but 
Jack did not act on his little friend's advice. On 
the contrary, he sprang to his feet, followed more 
slowly by the shabby-looking fellow whose cowardly 
attempt at a sort of highway robbery had brought 
on that collision. 

The young rowdy, indeed, looked as if he were 
ready to try the matter over again, for he was not a 
bad match for Jack in mere size and strength, but a 
glance up the street showed him three or four more 
boys coming, each on a clean run, and he knew it 
was about time for him to make haste in some other 

He ran, but he was not followed, for at that 
moment the clock in the church-tower rang out a 
sonorous "one," and it was time for Mr. Hayne's 
scholars to be behind their desks. 

"Pug, you run for home. Don't you stop any- 
where. " 

"I will. But did n't I give it to him? Eh, 

There was glee in that, but he acted on the coun- 
sel of his chivalric protector, and his short legs 
carried him off faster than one would have thought 

"Hurry up, Jack — you '11 be late!" shout- 
ed Charley Ferris, as he came along, puffing; 
and a tall, slender, red-haired boy behind him 
added : 

" Don't stop to brush, Jack ; walk right along ! " 

It was a few steps only, and they three were the 
last boys in, just in time to comply with the rigid 
rules of punctuality which Mr. Hayne was dis- 
posed to insist upon. 

Up to that hour there had been no neater, more 
orderly-appearing young gentleman in the school 
than the handsome, blue-eyed, light-haired, fun- 
loving brother of the last year's May Queen. 

There was nothing dandified about him, how- 
ever, at the moment when Mr. Hayne's ruler came 
down upon the little table on the platform, and the 
silence of "hours" followed the rap. 

" Mr. Roberts." 

"Sir?" responded Jack, promptly, rising to his 

" There are bruises and dirt on your face." 

" Yes, sir; I should say there was, most likely," 
returned Jack Roberts, quietly, with a polite bow 
and the ghost of a smile. 

" And there is dust on your clothes." 

" I had no time to brush them, sir." 

" May I ask if you have been fighting, Mr. 
Roberts ? A scholar of" this school fighting in the 
street ! " 

" Yes, sir; I have." 

Before Mr. Hayne could reply, he heard his own 




name called from another part of the room, and, 
turning about, he said : 

"What is it, Mr. Ferris?" 

" I saw it, sir. I ran to get there and help, 
but I was n't in time. There was a young rowdy 
took away a cocoa-nut from little Pug Merri- 
weather " 

"Ah! That 'sit." 

which plainly showed how deep an interest they 
were taking in the matter. 

" That will do, Mr. Ferris. You may take your 
seat. So may you, Mr. Roberts." 

" May I go and brush myself? " 

"No, sir. No scholar of this school need be 
afraid to follow your example. The dust you take 
on in defending the weak when they are wronged 


" The rascal 's always getting into some scrape," 
added Charley, in a lower tone. 

" Do you mean Mr. Roberts ? " 

" No, sir ; I mean Pug. Jack 's a trump, but 
he 's always taking the part of those little fellows." 

"Did he get back the cocoa-nut? " 

" Yes, sir ; he did ! And he worsted that rowdy 

It was clear that Charley was excited. 

" Was little Merriweather hurt ? " 

"No, sir; but he pelted that chap with every- 
thing he could lay his hands on. He 's gone 

Charley was more " worked up " than Jack him- 
self, and the rest of the boys listened with faces 

does not need to be brushed off. The second 
class in Latin, come forward. " 

Jack blushed to his very ears, and a sort of 
tingle went around the school, from boy to boy. 
Even John Derry whispered to the red-haired young 
gentleman who sat in front of him : 

" He is n't such a flat as I thought he was. Good 
for Jack, too, I say. But what a weasel Pug Mer- 
riweather is, anyway." 

At least one small boy of that neighborhood had 
evidently earned a reputation of his own. 

As for the young outlaw who had robbed him, 
he was not likely to forget Pug, until a troublesome 
lameness should leave his left arm. That had been 
the landing-place of the small clod". 




It was well understood that Jack's "dust" was 
to be looked upon somewhat in the light of a prize 

"Stars and garters," as it was explained to him 
by Andy Wright, after school. 

"That's it," said the red-haired boy; "but 
what '11 he remember it by after his face is washed ? 
It wont all turn to freckles like mine ? " 

"Freckles, Ote?" exclaimed Jack. "That 
would do. Give me one ; you 've enough for two." 

There was no denying it, for he had the full 
allowance that belongs to boys — and girls, too — of 
his complexion, but the idea of parting with any of 
them seemed new to him, and he made no reply. 

If there was any impoliteness in his silence, his 
friends were too well accustomed to it to care. 
They knew Otis Burr, and never wasted precious 
time in waiting for him to speak. 

" If I 'm not mistaken," said Andy, " we '11 have 
more trouble with those fellows from along the 
canal. They 've quite taken the notion of coming 
over here lately." 

" Have n't much else to do," snapped Jack. 
" There 's a perfect swarm of them. And they 're 
of no more use than so many wasps." 

" There ought to be a law to compel them to 
attend the district school. Then they 'd be shut 
up part of the time." 
-" Pity the teachers, then," said Otis. 

"They'd manage it. Might make something 
out of some of 'em." 

"Something or other. It just spoils 'em to let 
'em run around loose, with nothing to do. It 
would spoil me, I know." 

" You and Pug Merriweather 'd have a fight 
on your hands every day." 

"He'd have three, if there was any chance to 
find 'em. I never saw such a little imp. He gives 
his mother and sister no end of trouble." 

"Glad I 'm not his sister," gravely remarked 
Charley Ferris. 

" You? Well, no," said Andy, " I don't think 
you 'd shine as a sister." 

Charley had a notion that he was born to shine 

(To be 

in almost anything he might undertake, but for the 
second time that day he saw that the public opin- 
ion was against him, especially after Andy said 
something about beauty being required for a com- 
plete success, and Otis Burr added : 

"That settles it. He would n't do." 

" 1 say, boys," interrupted Jack, "the girls are 
becoming excited about this May Queen business." 

" They all want to be queens, I suppose," said 
Andy, " and old Avring only wants one for his 

"Have they pitched on any one girl to vote 
for?" asked Joe Martin, as he came up with a lot 
of books under his arm. 

" If they have, they forgot to tell me. I '11 ask 
Belle about it to-night. There '11 be some work 
for us before we get through." 

" Why, Jack, do you mean to sing at the Festi- 
val ? " asked Andy. 

"Me? Sing? Well, yes, it 's likely Ayring 
will be 'round after me. I did sing a song once, 
but nobody 's asked me to sing since that" 

" We '11 let the girls and the small fry do the 
show business," suggested Charley Ferris, with an 
effort at elderly dignity, "but we must keep our eye 
on the politics of it. We must n't let the Wedge- 
wood boys walk over us." 

"They '11 pick out some girl from Ma'am 

" That 's what they '11 do. They did, last year, 
and they came within ten votes of winning. " 

"And they did n't all vote for the same girl, 
either. They wont make that blunder again." 

"We must n't, either." 

Fresh arrivals of youthful politicians had made 
quite a caucus of it, but the whole question had to 
be "laid on the table," as Andy Wright called it, 
until information could be had as to the purposes 
of the young ladies. So the group speedily broke 
up, and the boys went their ways. 

It was likely, however, that Jack Roberts would 
have questions to answer as well as to ask, on his 
arrival home with so much dust of battle still on 


5 66 


I May, 







By Sphinx. 

PERHAPS you think that men and women are 
the only ones that have distinctive head-dresses 
and are proud of them ; but if you should see some 
of the animals in other countries, and sec how their 
masters dress them up, you would find that their 
rigging is sometimes very elaborate. 

Look at the picture of a Neapolitan donkey, at 
the top of the opposite page. This head is perfectly 
gorgeous, and his owner thinks it is beautiful. In 
the first place, the hair between the animal's long 
ears is tied or wound up with bright red worsted, 
and makes a bright little upright tuft ; then his 
bridle is covered with bits of brass which shine in 
the sun, and it is all decorated, besides, with red 
tassels, while on either side, just over his eyes, are 
two very large bunches of red. Coming down a 
mountain path against a deep blue sky, or stand- 
ing against a white wall, he looks very picturesque. 

The horse at his side, though so near him in 
the picture, comes from Arabia, and his head is 
bandaged up with a most intricate headstall. A 
great deal of his master's wealth is lavished on this 
bridle; for the Arabs think the world of their fleet 
steeds, and even gold and silver, richly embossed, 
can be seen on some of the favorite horses. 

While we are considering oriental animals, we 
might as well notice next the camel's head in the 
center of the page ; he has on a very odd head-piece, 
made up of coarse bits of bright colors, with tassels 
ranging down the sides, interspersed with bells. 
It looks very ugly in the hand, but on the animal 
it is very pretty; and they say that the camels 
become so fond of their bells that sometimes they 
will not travel without the sound of them. 

The great, strong horse near this camel belongs to 
Normandy, France, and the great hump on his neck 

is his collar, which is made very large and high, 
and is covered with a sheep-skin dyed a bright blue ; 
and, although it appears very ungainly here, still it 
looks well on a fine gray Normandy horse. 

Below him you can see the head of an ele- 
phant, with an ornament hanging down between 
his eyes ; his trappings are very plain, but some of 
them in India are rich and dazzling, especially 
those of elephants that carry the native princes. 
They cover their animals with the brightest cloths, 
embroidered with gold and silver, and when they 
are decorated, they look like great masses of mov- 
ing color, not at all like the Austrian horse in the 
corner, who has to work hard all the day dragging 
heavy loads of beer-barrels, besides the weight of 
his leathern collar, covered with brass knobs. 

The Italian post-horse, seen in almost every 
town of southern Italy, has a much smaller collar, 
but much more brass, besides a bunch of feathers 
sticking straight up on top of his head, a row of 
bells around his neck, and a long tuft of dyed 
horse-hair hanging under the jaw. His blinders 
are of brass, and a coronet of brass stands up on 
his forehead, while his owner thinks he will com- 
plete its beauty by cropping the animal's mane, and 
making it stand up on its neck like a mule's. 

The savage, wild-looking little head, pictured in 
the lower corner, belongs to a mustang, or wild 
pony, owned by a Sioux Indian, as wild as his 
steed ; he has no bridle, but the warrior simply 
fastens a leather thong around his under jaw, and 
controls him with this and his voice. He also puts 
eagles' feathers in his mane and tail, and the horse 
and his rider present a very wild appearance as 
they sweep over the prairies after the buffaloes, or 
dash up to and away from enemies in battle. 


By Mary N. Prescott. 

Little gypsy Dandelion, 

Dancing in the sun, 
Have you any curls to sell? 

" Not a single one ! " 
Have you any eggs and cheese 

To go a-marketing? 
I have neither one of these, 

For beggar or for king." 

Little idle Dandelion, 

Then, I '11 mow you down. 
What is it you 're good for, 

With your golden crown ? 
Oh, I gild the fields, afar, 

In the pleasant spring, 
Shining like the morning star, 

With the light I bring." 

5 68 




Bv Clara Doty Bates. 

No one would think that lit-tle To-tote was a girl who 
could en-joy stand-ing on her head. 

She was as shy as her kit-ten that hid un-der 

chairs when-ev-er a strange step came 
near ; and she scarce-ly ev-er looked any- 
one in the face, with-out first let-tingr her 
long, soft eye-lash-es fall up-on her cheek. 
And yet To-tote's fa-vor-ite de-light was 
to stand on her head. 

Her nurse laughed and cried out, " Oh, 
To-tote, a-gain on your head ! " at which 
To-tote would laugh too, and go on with her play. 

Now To-tote had for a gift from her good grand-moth-er, a gold 
spoon with a. fan-cy T en-graved on the han-dle. With this she ate her 
sup-per of bread and milk, and with this she sipped her soup at din-ner. 
In-deed, it was al-ways laid at To-tote's plate, for wheth-er she re-quired 
it or not, she al-ways want-ed to see it there. And 
when-ev-er she saw it she stood on her head 

"Why, To-tote! " you will say, " How could 
you do such a thing ? " 

Yet you would not be so sur-prised if 
you should see her. Take your 
own bright spoon at break- 
fast, or at din-ner, or 
at tea, look 

in-side its shin-ing bowl, and 
you will see a ver-y good like-ness 
of a lit-tle boy or girl that you know, and 
— it will be wrong side up. That was what To- 
tote so much en-joyed do-ing at sup-per. It was 
ver-y fun-ny to her pret-ty French eyes to see the smil-ing 
lit-tle la-dy look-ing as if she were walk-ing with her feet in the air. 

"Oh, oh," she would laugh, "you will get diz-zy in there, Miss To-tote! " 
And nurse would add ; "Yes, yes, she is ver-y diz-zy. Now bid her good- 
night, To-tote, and we will light the can-die and go up to bed." 





Ed-dv was a lit- tie boy, who lived on a farm. One 
day he went with his fa-ther, moth-er, and sis-ter, to 
the coun-ty fair, four miles a-way. 

Ed-dy saw a great man-y won-der-ful things that 
day, but there was noth-ing there that he want-ed so 
much as a red bal-loon, so he bought one with some 
mon-ey giv-en him to spend " as he pleased." 

All the way home Ed-dy held the string, and the 
bal-loon float-ed a-bove the car-riage. When he went 
in-to the house he tied it to the chair-back, and left 
it there, while he sat down and ate his sup-per. 

Af-ter sup-per he a-mused 
him-self by try-ing to make 
the bal-loon stay down on 
the floor. As soon as it 
rose, he struck it with the 
palm of his hand, and made 
it go down a-gain ; but, as 
it jumped up ev-ery time, he 
had to strike it a-gain and 

Now, Ed-dy lived in an 
old house, with a large, open 
fire-place ; as he was chas- 
ing his play-thing, all at o^ce 
he came to the fire-place ; 
the bal-loon slipped a-way 
from his hand and went 
right up the big chim-ney. 

Ed-dy and his sis-ter An-nie ran in-to 
the yard, but they could not catch the fly-a- 
way ; it rose high-er than the house-top. 
They watched it go up, up, up, un-til it 
was on-ly a speck a-gainst the blue sky. 
Then it went so ver-y high that, al-though 
they kept look-ing and look-ing, at length, 
they could not see it at all ; and that was the last of Ed-dy 's bal-loon. 


J A C K -I N - T H E - P U L P I T . 



"April showers bring May flowers," and May 
flowers bring happy hours, — that is, in the country, 
— and what can an honest Jack-in-the-Pulpit 
know about the city, excepting by hearsay ? The 
Little School-ma'am says that in New York, and a 
few other brick-and-stone conglomerations, the in- 
habitants have a way of swapping houses with one 
another on the first day of May, and, in consequence, 
the streets are filled with carts carrying household 
goods and chattels to and fro, hither and thither, 
till the city is nearly distracted. Then in the 
houses, she tells me, the broom-spirit has full sway'; 
wives rule the home- universe, and husbands and 
fathers stand aside and weep. Busy times, I should 
say ! 

Well, and are not ?ny people busy, too ? Birds 
with their cradles and housekeeping; early spiders 
with their shiny little hammocks and awnings; ants 
with their apartment-houses, and, above all, dear, 
rosy, noisy bipeds (known by learned naturalists as 
boysandgirlscs semiwildses), running about in the 
fields and woods, and having the best kind of a 
busy time. Bless them ! They make me think 
of bees, humming with health and cheerfulness, 
and storing up sweets and flower-wealth for all to 
share who will. 

Talking of busy times and hours packed full of 
simple enjoyment, my hearers, consider this bit of 
true history about 


How would you like to have such a bringing- 
up as befell Fritz, son of Frederick William the 
Second, King of Prussia ? Let me tell you about it. 

When the child was in his tenth year, the father 
wrote out directions to the three tutors as to Fritz's 
mode of life. The boy was to be called at six 
o'clock, and the tutors were to stand by to see that 
he did not loiter nor turn in bed ; he must get up 

at once. As soon as he had put on his slippers, he 
was to kneel at his bedside and pray aloud a prayer, 
so that all in the room might hear. Then, as 
rapidly as possible, he was to put on his shoes and 
spatterdashes, vigorously and briskly wash himself, 
get into his clothes, and have his hair powdered 
and combed. During the hair-dressing, he was at 
the same time to take a breakfast of tea, so that 
both jobs should go on at once, in order to save 
time ; and all this, from the calling to the end of 
the breakfast, was to be done in fifteen minutes ! 

At half-past nine in the evening he was t<5 bid 
his father good-night, go directly to his room, very 
rapidly take off his clothes, wash, and hear a 
prayer on his knees. Then a hymn was to be sung, 
and Fritz was to hop instantly into bed. 

Poor Fritz ! No room for bed-time stories nor 
pillow-fights ! 

But, not so fast. "Poor Fritz" afterward 
became Frederick the Great. 


Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : If you were a native of central 
Kentucky you would not think of sending your St. Nicholas 
children as far as Africa or Buenos Ayres for natural beads, such 
as you mentioned in your budget of November, a year ago, for in 
Hardin County, near a place called Rough Creek, where we have 
sometimes spent the summer, there is a high hill formed of round, 
flat stones, from the size of a pin-head to an inch across, with a 
round hole right through the middle. The hill is called, from 
the shape of these stones, "Button-mold Mound." They look 
as if they might have been fishing-worms once, had petrified, 
and been broken up into short pieces. May be, they played 
around in the mud with the trilobites, when both felt more like play- 
ing than they do now. We find trilobites on the hills around 
Cincinnati, when we go visiting there. — Your affectionate friend, 

Shirley Martin. 


Early in May, my dears, — especially those of 
you who live in the Middle States, — be ready for 
the new-coming of the cat-birds. 

You will find them a social set, for they seldom 
nest at a distance from a farm-house or other dwell- 
ing of man ; and, if you listen carefully, in the 
morning or evening, you may hear their wild, 
warbling melody. They belong to the great Thrush 
family, you know, most of whom have sweet voices. 
They are lively, quick-tempered fellows, and if they 
see a snake, will scold fiercely at it; occasionally, 
too, they will flock together, and either kill their 
enemy or drive him away. It is funny that their 
cry should sound so like the "mew" of a cat, for 
they dislike puss almost as much as they hate 
snakes ; and they often perch impudently just out 
of reach, and lecture her severely, calling out 
"mew" every now and then, as if to taunt her. 


On the whole, taking the parrot, mocking-bird, 
canary, cuckoo, and cat-bird into consideration, it 
seems to me sometimes that the birds have rather 
an unfair advantage over other creatures in the 
way of mimicry. 

But I don't know. The Little School-ma'am tells 
me that on March ^id of this year, she heard just 
outside her window, a burst of trills and roulades, 
and roundelays, and ecstatic airs, — varied with soft 
warbles, and sudden chirps and twitters, and sweet, 


f A C K - I N - T II E -PULPIT. 


low lullabies, — altogether making almost the finest 
medley of bird songs and glees that ever greeted her 
ears. Of course, she listened in rapt pleasure until 
there came a pause, wondering all the time, however, 
what rival of the nightingale could thus have come 
back before the buds and flowers. And when, at 
last, the serenade was ended, she hastened to the 
window, looked at each bough of every tree, and 
finally descried — little dirty-faced, ill-clad Tim Milli- 
gan, the newsboy, with cheeks puffed out like 
balloons, and pursed-up lips, whence suddenly 
issued again that torrent of bird-like melody. Ere 
long, he raised his hand and took from between his 
teeth a queer little metallic sheet, and instantly the 
music ended. 

Whence, I say — ho, rollicking, deceitful cat-bird, 
revel in thy taunting mimicry ; but beware thy- 
self, of Tim Milligans, and street-whistles ! 


"YES," said a tall man with a 
sword, as he strolled with Deacon 
Green along the foot-path in my 
meadow; "yes, my five-year- 
old Nelly helped to hold the 
fort ! Bless her ! 

" One day, we soldiers 
rode off in chase of a 
band of five hundred In- 
dians. After some hours, 
we found that more than 
half of them had turned 
about and were on their 
way back to attack the 
fort. They hoped to 
capture it ; for they knew 
that it was built chiefly 
of adobe [sun-dried 
bricks], and they felt 
sure that w-e had left 
only a few men to defend 
it. We rode back as fast 
as our jaded horses could 
go, and we arrived not a 
moment too soon ! 

" The women and chil- 
dren had gone into the 
block-house and were 
unhurt ; but several of 
the soldiers had been 
wounded in running to 
the same shelter. For 
three hours my wife fired 
repeating rifles, one after 
another. A soldier, hurt 
in both legs, loaded the 
rifles, and passed them 
to little Nelly, who car- 
ried them to her mother, 
and brought back the empty ones to be reloaded. 
The child grew tired before long, but the attack of 
the Indians was so fierce and unresting that even 
she, poor mite, could not be spared. The tears came 
again and again, and she begged to be let off. But 
her mother would say : ' Stand to it, my Nelly ! 

Stand to it, my little soldier-girl ! ' And then the 
child would straighten herself up, and bravely go 
on with her wearying task. 

"When the little one came to kiss me, after the 
fighting was done, her face was so streaked with 
tears and gunpowder that, at first, I failed to 
recognize my own brave little daughter." 


One of those prying fellows, the naturalists, has 
been bringing queer live things from more than 
half a mile deep in the ocean, where there are no 
voices, and the day is almost as dark as the night. 
Of course, he himself did not go down for them, 
but he sank a dredge, or open-mouthed bag, fast- 
ened to a rope, and 
dragged it along 
the bottom. 
The things 
in the 


picture came up in this 
dredge, not very long ago. 

The lower of the two beau- 
tiful filagree marvels is a 
sponge, and its stalk is a 
bundle of about three hun- 
dred threads of glassy stuff 
called silica. Indeed, this 
material glistens as if it were 
reality the finest spun- 
glass; and, although the sil- 
very web is so delicate, it is 
able to withstand the tre- 
mendous pressure of the 
water all about it. The 
other sponge, with its spread- 
ing roots, has been dragged 
out of the mud, and is float- 
ing in the water. Those two 
many-legged shrimps once 
frolicked about in their cold, 
sunless, soundless home, 
among myriads of just such 
lovely forms as these. 
That may be all very well for shrimps, but as for 
your Jack, — give me the lightsome air, the glow- 
ing sun, the merry brook, the rustling green things, 
and my bonny birds, that make happy life about my 
pulpit, not to mention those rackety, red-cheeked, 
dear boys and girls of the Red School-house. 

57 2 





Six or seven hundred eager questioners to answer at once — and 
but twice as many words to do it with ! 

First, to the boys who have asked " How can I make a cheap 
cabinet ? " we offer this simple design. 

The right-hand picture shows the cabinet complete, and the plan 
beside it is drawn so that every measurement in it is one-sixteenth of 
the corresponding measurement in the finished cabinet. No nails 
are used. Wood of light color looks well ; chestnut is easily worked. 

The ends of the top and bottom are mortised into the sides. Close 
to the side boards holes are bored through the projecting parts of the 
tenons ; and wedges are inserted and hammered tight. 

The frames of the doors are doweled at the corners, each joint 
being made by boring a hole through one piece into the next, and 
inserting a dowel coated with glue. The short dotted lines in the 
plan help to explain this. The glass should not be set with putty, 
but with narrow strips, heading, or rattan, fastened with brads or 

"needle-points." Butt-hinges may be used, with ornamental hinge- 
plates set outside, as shown. Hook one door to the shelf, and it will 
hold the other door shut. 

The shelves may be made with raised edges, like trays, — the front 
rims are not shown in the picture. These edges will save the con- 
tents from rolling off when the trays are taken out. The shelves 
slope forward, to show the specimens to better advantage; and they 
rest on dowels let into auger-holes in the side boards. To prevent 
them from slipping, pegs are set in them underneath, resting against 

the backs of the forward dowels. The shelves may be put in flat, 
and may rest on screw-eyes screwed into the sides of the cabinet. 

Metal ears are set on the back, projecting above the top, for hang- 
ing the cabinet ; in addition, it is well to drive a screw from the 
inside through the back into a stud in the wall. 

The scalloping at the top of the back may be done with a fret-saw, 
the hole in the center of each scallop is bored right through. The 
ornamental lines across the sides are made with a gouge, and should 
be painted brown ; then the whole cabinet should be covered with 
two coats of white shellac varnish. Those skilled in fret-sawing may 
like to set in the top the letters A. A., in Old English text. If you 
are puzzled over any part of the cabinet, no doubt you "know a 
fellow down at the shop " who will give you a hint. 

And now, while the boys have gone for some boards and the 
hammer, a word to the presidents of all the St. Nicholas chapters, 
which are now found in more than twenty States and Territories, 
to say nothing of England and Germany. 

The more specific you can make your work, the better. For 
instance, if you are much interested in entomology, instead of attempt- 
ing to cover the whole field, suppose you direct your attention to the 
scales on butterflies' wings. Are the scales on all parts of the same 
butterfly of the same shape? Are the scales on butterflies of differ- 
ent sorts different in shape? Are the scales of moths essentially 
different from those of butterflies? Can Icpidoptcra (butterflies and 
moths) be classified by their scales, as fishes can ? 

Let each member of your chapter who has access to a microscope 
study some one kind of butterfly thoroughly, and make a report, with 
careful drawings, of the scales of both male and female. Then let 
your secretary make a report, carefully condensed, from these, and 
send it to Lenox with the drawings. We will compare the reports 
sent in, and publish the general result of all your observations. 

"And what shall /do? I don't like bugs! I love flowers." 
" How shall I begin ? Minerals are my " 

Patience ! Get your cabinets ready and collect as many specimens 
as you can, until next month, when the flowers will be wondering if 
it is not time for them to begin teaching again, and when we hope 
to find you still eager to "consider" them. 

Award of a Prize. 

The prize for drawings of snow-crystals has been awarded to Miss 
Mary L. Garfield, of Fitchburg, Mass. 

Several other members sent drawings which caused us to hesitate 
in our decision. The drawings of Corwin 
Linson, especially, deserve commendation. 
They came too late to compete with the 
others, as also did fifty cards of crystal- 
drawings from Miss Klyda Richardson. 

Unfortunately, the request for these 
snow-flakes was not published until late in 
the winter, and we prefer, now, to post- 
pone a further report upon them, and to 
defer printing the drawings, until next 
winter, when each one of the members in 
snowy districts can have a good chance 
to make similar pictures. 

But now the snow has got on its sum- 
mer legs of silver, and has run away from 
us. Chrysalids are beginning to crack. 
It is the day of resurrection for the cater- 
pillar. The woods are again sweet with 
wild flowers. Here is May, and we of New England are just begin- 
ning to search for the first violets. But, oh dear me ! what a country 
this is ! It spreads so widely that there are all kinds of climates in 
it at the same time. And we forget that you of California picked 
your violets in February, and wrote to us in midwinter, inclosing 
the fragrant blossoms, and asking how to press and preserve them. 
So, next month, we shall take up this subject, give you a few hints 
concerning the pressing and keeping of flowers, and perhaps pass 
on to suggest a few things about insects. 



What do you all think of a badge? Wc now number seven 
hundred, but we hope to be one thousand before next month. 
Address all communications as before. 

Harlan H. Ballard, 

Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass. 

List of Additional Chapters. 
Address. Members. President. 

Philadelphia, Pa., B 6. .Edwin A. Kelley, 1606 Vine st. 

Newberne, N. C 16 Mrs. E. C. Gaskins, care Geo. Allen 

Chicago, 111., A... ... . 8. Winnie Schuttler, 72 Grant Place. 

San Antonio, Texas 7 , P. G. Stevenson. 

St. Louis, Mo., A 10 Maud M. Love, 1916 Wash. st. 

Lima, Ohio 6. . Dora Metzger. 

Cedar Creek, Wis 4..DowMaxon. 

Philadelphia, Pa., C 6. . Eleanor J. Crew, 1926 N. nth st 

Kingsboro, N. Y 12. ,M. W. Thomas, Fulton Co. 

Lakeworth, Fla 6. . Lida P. Brown. 

San Francisco, Cal 7. . Sewall Dolliver, 2201 Fillmore st. 

Harlem, N. Y 8. Geo. T. Sanford, 108 W. 133d st. 

Oakland, Cal 7. . Henry C. Converse, 1305 Broadway. 

Columbus, Wis 4 . . Florence Tyng Griswold. 

Mahomet, III 5 Dora Brown, Champaign Co. 

Chicago, III., B 6. . Annie T. Cromwell, 180 S. Water st. 

Osage City, Kansas John T. Nixon. 

St. Louis, Mo., B 5. .H. B. Crucknell, 1233 N. 21st st. 

Newton Centre, Mass. . .. 4. .Robert S. Loring. 

Charley G. — You will find a short and lively May-day acting-play 
in St. Nicholas for May, 1876. It is called " May-day In-doors," 
and was written by Mrs. Abby Morton Diaz. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Have you noticed that in February, and 
March of this year the days of the week fall upon exactly the same 
days of the month ? For instance, the Saturdays in both months were 
the 5th, 12th, 19th, and 26th; and the Sundays were the 6th, 13th, 
20th, and 27th. I suppose this happens always when February has 
twentv-eight days, or four complete weeks. — Truly yours, 

B. C. T. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I have lived here in Dakota about four 
months, and have seen many wonderful things. The prairie fire for 
instance, which at one time entirely surrounded our home. It was 
beautiful to look at, but at the same time it was frightful on account 
of the danger to our homes. 

Our homestead is two and a half miles from the town (Huron), on 
the Chicago and North-western R. R. The road is through to Ft. 
Pierre, on the Missouri River. 

Our town is now about eight months old and it has over seven 
hundred people 

We shall soon have two churches and a school-house, and it is also 
expected to be the county seat. 

There is not a tree in sight, but the scenery is beautiful. At times 
we have imaginary lakes that look perfectly natural to a stranger's 
eye. There are many antelope here in droves from fifty to three 
hundred, and during the severe storm in October many were driven 
to the Jim River, near town, where the sportsmen shot them. — From 
your admiring friend, C. M. S. 

Elizabeth M. Morris. — The first volume of St. Nicholas is out 
of print, and the publishers know of no place where a copy of it can 
be obtained. It is not probable that the volume will ever be 
reprinted. The publishers will pay the full retail price for a limited 
number of the issues of St. Nicholas for November and Decem- 
ber, 1873; January, November, and December, 1874; March and 
November, 1875; August and December, 1876; and January, 1877; 
/ntt the copies must be in good condition, and suitable Jar binding. 
The covers and the advertising pages may be torn, but the maga- 
zines themselves must be neither torn nor soiled. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I was much interested in your April article 
about the cochineal insect, and the colors made from it. One of the 
sentences said that: "The best carmine can be made only in fine 
weather" ; and this reminded me of a little anecdote that I read in 
a book, about Sir Humphry Davy, the great chemist. 

An English manufacturer agreed to pay j£ 1,000 — about five thou- 
sand dollars — to a Frenchman, if he would reveal to him the secret 
through which French makers were enabled to produce carmine of a 
quality generally so much better than the English. The Frenchman 
politely took the money, and said: "You must work only on 
clear, sunny days." And this was the whole of the secret; for, in 
other respects, the processes followed by both parties were exactly 
alike. But it was a dear bargain for the Englishman, because — 
says the story — in his country there is very little of the beautiful 
sunny weather that is frequently enjoyed in France. — Yours truly, 

A. C. 

May Jennings asks us to reprint this little paragraph from the 
" Letter- Box " of May, 1874 : 

May-baskets are very welcome as birthday gifts to May children, 
or as offerings to invalids and to little children in hospitals, or to put 
before fathers' and mothers' plates on May-day morning. A pretty 
May-basket can be made by trimming a paper-box (a collar-box will 
do for a small one) with tissue-paper fringed and crinkled, so as to 
hang around the outside, and by sewing to opposite sides of the box 
a strip of card-board for a handle. This, also, can be covered with 
tissue-paper. Moss, wild flowers, and green leaves will soon make 
the basket beautiful; and if you have a delicate bit of vine to 
wreathe about the handle, so much the better. Narrow white ribbon 
bows, with streamers, where the handle joins the basket, give a 
pretty effect; and, for very little children, it will do no harm to put 
tiny round egg-like sugar-plums in the middle of the flowers. 

John J. Kean. — The "Petite Anse Amateur," mentioned in the 
" Letter-Box " of December, 1879, is edited by Avery & Mcllhenny, 
New Iberia Post-office, La. 

M. Nicoll and Others. — You will find good advice as to how to 
care for canary birds in Mr. Ernest Ingersoll's article, "A Talk 
about Canaries," printed in St. Nicholas for February, 1877. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Seeing in your February number a small 
rhyme of the " Small maid of St. Paul," I thought that I would give 
you something similar, which runs as follows : 

There was a small girl in Montana, 
I think her name was Susanna ; 
She walked down the street, 
With her basket so neat, 
To get her mamma a banana. 
Yours, etc., 

A Constant Reader, per C. S. 

In good season to appear with Mr. Beard's "Chapter on Soap- 
Bubbles," in the present number, comes the following letter: 

Dear St. Nicholas : Did you ever hear of a "soap-bubble party" ? 
Well, an English lady gave one not long ago, and, from the account 
I read, it must have been very merry. Early in the evening, the 
guests seated themselves at a long table, on which were a number 
of pretty bowls, half-filled with warm soap-suds. By the side of 
each bowl was a common, straight-stemmed clay pipe, ornamented 
with little bows of narrow ribbon, and painted in pretty colors. The 
blowing of the bubbles began at once, and it must have been funny 
to see the guests — all grown up though they were, and some of them 
with names well known in social and political affairs — vie with each 
other, and try who could blow the biggest and most beautiful bubble; 
acting, indeed, as if they had become boys and girls again. 

If any of your readers — little folks, grown folks, or folks altogether 
— should give such a party, they might let each guest carry away a 
pipe as a memento; and, of course, these souvenirs would be all the 
more highly prized if prettily decorated, and jiy the hands of skillful 
hostesses. M. V. W. 

Nelly B. — It is believed that the Europeans imported brazil-wood 
under lhat name from India, before ihey discovered South America, 
and that the country of Brazil received its name from this red dye- 
wood, with which the early navigators were acquainted already, and 
which they found there in great abundance. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Your girls and boys may like to hear how 
the children of Kent — "the garden of England " — celebrated May- 
day fifty years ago. In the morning, numbers of boys and girls 
went about in little companies, carrying boughs of hawthorn or other 
trees in blossom. In every group, two children bore a May garland, 
which was formed of two small willow hoops, crossed, decorated with 
primroses and other flowers, and green leaves. Now and then there 
would be, in the middle of the garland, a doll May Queen gayly 




dressed. At every house the children sang a carol, expecting pen- 
nies in return. ■ Sometimes they sang these two lines over and over: 

" This is the day, the First of May, — 
Please to remember the Garland." 

But generally there were several verses, or perhaps this one, which 
dates hack to the days of good Queen Bess, 1 believe : 

" A branch of May I 've brought you here, 
And at your door I stand; 
It 's but a sprout, but it 's well budded out, 
The work of our Lord's hand." 

Later in the day, in some places, boys and girls joined in the 
merry-making on the village green, around and about the May-pole, 
as described by Olive Thome in your May number of 1878. 

I am sorry to say that these pretty customs seem to be dying out, 
but, at any rate, it is pleasant to call them to mind. — Yours truly, 

W. H. F. 

New Subscribed. — 1. The first number of St. Nicholas is dated 
November, 1873. 2. From time to time, the following magazines 
have been merged in St. Nicholas: "Our Young Folks," "Little 
Corporal," "The School-day Magazine," "The Children's Hour," 
and "The Riverside Magazine." 3. In Paris, a French magazine 
entitled "St. Nicolas" is published weekly, but it does not at all 
represent the American St. Nicholas. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Will some of your readers tell me why it is 
that when you warm a piece of paper by rubbing it between your 
knees, it will stick to a piece of wood? — Yours truly, 

Zella (7 years). 

Dear St. Nicholas : I live in Chicago, near Lincoln Park, and 
in summer often go to the park and down to the lake. One day, 
when gathering shells, I found a small snail, which I kept in a bottle 
of water. And one time, when giving it some clean sand and water, 
I found in the sand a small beetle. I took a look at him through the 
magnifying- glass. His shell looked like tortoise-shell, only the 
beetle-shell had great, deep ridges in it. He was a queer-looking 
insect, for on his stomach there were a great number of smaller 
shells, in which live other little insects. Once, when I was looking 
at him, one half of his shell came off. Inside of his shell he has four 
wings, two on each side, and they glisten like pearl. Still they are 
so thin that they look like lace ; and you could see the veins and 
ve'inlets in them. In the middle his wings parted, and if you could 

look very closely you could see a small portion of his back. The 
upper parts of the legs looked very smooth, while the under parts are 
covered with small, fine hairs. I just wish you could have seen that 
beetle, with his wings so beautiful and lace-like, his legs so smooth 
and shiny. I am very sorry I can not write anything about his 
head, but the poor beetle was minus a head when 1 found him, so I 
guess I 'II have to leave the account of that part till I find anothei 
beetle, when you may have another note from your little friend. 

L. H. 

Here are two capital letters from members of the Agassiz Asso- 
ciation : 

Dear Me Ballard: Your minerals arrived here safely, they are 
very nice We have a live porcupine; 1 will send you some of his 
quills if you would like them. There is an opossum in the cage with 
the porcupine. Papa was one day showing the opossum to the class, 
when he noticed two or three quills in his nose. I think it was too 
bad for it must have hurt him. I wonder if they had been quarreling. 
Thank you for the little book you sent me; when the Spring comes 
I hope to collect plants. Did you know that the cats have a third 
eye-lid? If you have a gentle kitty, when she is asleep lift up her 
upper eye-lid, and you will see a thick veil over her eye. Do you 
know if cats like music of any kind ? We have a little black-and-white 
kitty that seems to like it when papa whistles. Can you tell me what 
the pocket in the ear of the cat is for? and if you have ever known 
nf a cat burrowing in the earth to keep warm? — Yours truly, 

M. N. W. 

Our cat is n inches high and 19 inches long from the root of his 
tail to the end of his nose and his tail is 10W inches long. He has 
four legs and walks on the tips of his toes. He has four toes on each 
hind foot and on his fore feet five toes on each, one of which he does 
not use in walking because it is too high on his leg but he uses it in 
climbing. He walks on little cushions on the end of his toes. He 
uses his claws, only at will, as when he is climbing, stretching, fight- 
ing, etc. His ears are movable at will, but not so much so as a rab- 
bit's. His eyes tip in like a Chinaman's. When he is watching for 
his prey he moves his tail from side to side. His tail is smooth and 
tapering. There is soft fur all over his body except on the end of 
his nose and the cushions on his toes and the inside of his ears. He 
is gray with lighter and darker stripes of gray all over his body, tail 
and legs. 

He lives mostly on bread and milk and what he catches which are 
rats mice squirrels rabbits snakes and birds. He will eat dough, 
sweet corn, cooked potatoes, and turnips, but does n't like the latter 
very well. 

When I rub him I can see sparks, and the longer and faster he is 
rubbed the more sparks you can see, and at the same time you can 
hear a snapping noise. I can, too, feel my fingers tingle. It is 
electricity in the hair. Lina Aldrich. 

Solutions to February puzzles were received, too late for acknowledgment in the April number, from " A Hive of Bees," Wimbledon, 
England, 9- The names of solvers are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. 

Answers to Puzzles in the March Number were received, before March 20, from "Jessamine," 3 — N. Eyes, all — Willie Bond, 
1 — Alice Dunning and Julia Palmer, 2 — Walter K. Smith, 1 — Dora N. Taylor, 1 — Willie Ross, 3 — Edward Browazki, 2 — Warner W. 
Gilbert, 2 — "Artful Dodger," 2 — Leon and Naomi, 1 — Cornelia Mitchell, 3 — Anne V. Gleason, 4 — Frank R. Heath, 11 — Fordyce Aimee 
Warden, S — Walter Monteith, 1 — J. Harry Anderson, 3 — Eleanor B. Farley, 2 — Carrie F. Doane, 4 — Juliette S. Ryall, 2 — Violet, 2 — 

E. L. Myers, 3 — John B. Blood, 3 — C. H. McBride, 8 — Virginie Callmeyer, 9 — "The Blanke Family," 11 — J. O., 2 — Emma and Howard 
Collins, 3 — Willie R. Witherle, 1 — J. Milton Gitterman, 3 — " Antony and Cleopatra," 7 — Harriet A. Clark, all — Henry Rochester, 3 — 
Will Rochester, 5 — Ashbel Green, Jr., 3 — ''Phyllis," 5 — E. L. Gould, 1 — Helen M. Drennan, 3 — Henry K. White, Jr., 1 — Grace 
Hewlett, all — Alice W. Clark, all — A. B. C, 5 — Mary T. Dean, 3 — H. Ware, all — Mary Appleton, 1 — Gertrude L. Ellis, 5 — Johnnie H. 
Fisher, 2 — Sallie Wiles, 8 — Livingston Ham, 2 — H. and F. Kerr, 4 — Bessie S. Hosmer, 11 — Ruth Camp, 3 — Thomas Denny, Jr., 1 — 
Willie A. McLaven, 6 — Margaret Neilson Armstrong, all — Ella Marie Faulkner, 3 — Richard Anderson, 2 — Gail Sherman, 1 — Lizzie C. C. 
2— Madge K. L., 2— Herbert N. Twing, all — " Modah," 4 — Eddie L. Dufourcq, 4 — H. H. D., 2 — Caroline Weitling, 6 — Fred C. McDon- 
ald, all — H. W. R., 11 — Bessie Taylor, 6 — Edith Boyd, 1 — "Delta Tau Delta," 1 — Katy Flemming, 7 — F. W. C, 2 — "Witch and 
Wizard," 7 — Marie L., 4 — Robert A. Gaily, 9 — "Adam and Eve," 10— Willie T Mandeville, 3 — Alice M. H., 3 — Dolly, 9 — Florence 
Leslie Kyte, 10 — " Three Puzzlers," 8 — Lucy 1!. Shaw, 9 — Susie GofF, 8 — Allie D. Morehouse, 6 — Alice M. Kyte, 6 — Frank, Noble, and 
Anna, n — Henry C. Brown, n — Edward Vultee, 11 — W. G. and L. W. McKinnev, 9 — Estelle Weiler, 4 — J. S. Tennant, 8 — " Unknown," 
2 — Edward F. Biddle, 6 — Jennie M. Rogers, 1 — Florence Wilcox, 11 — "Chuck," all — Jane Bright, 1 — P. C. Hartough, 2 — Lizzie D. Fyfer, 
2 — Lizzie H. D. St. Vrain, 9 — Effie H. Talboys, 1 — Mabel Thompson, 2 — Mattie K. Watson, 3 — " Belle and Bertie," 7 — A. E. W., n — 
Florence G. Lane, 3 — Newcomb B. Cole, 6 — Walter B. Smith, 3 — Alice P. Pendleton, n — Mors O. Slocum, 6 — Bessie Meade, 3 — "Geor- 
gia and Lee," 7 — Lulu G. Crabbe, 12 — Fannie Knobloch, fj — Kitty H. Hunt, 1 — Neddie and Tillie, 1 — Bessie Finch and Bertha Stevens, 
1 — W. A. T., 2 — Norman J. McMillan, 1 — " X. Y. Z.," 10 — Etta C. Wagner, 2 — Mamie L. Fenimore, 5 — Lottie G., 2 — Susie Evans, 5 — 
Barclay A. Scovil, 1 — Tom, Dick, and Harry, all — Effie E. Hadwen, 9 — Minnie Hazen, 2 — George and Emma Huhu, 4 — Anna B Mose- 
ley, 7 — Jessie R. C, 1 — Grace E. Hopkins, all — Frank L. Thomas, 2 — O. C. Turner, all — " Two Boys," 5 — Willie D. Ward, all — Letitia t 
Preston, 3 — Sallie Chase, 3 — Lizzie C. McMartm, 1 — Hoffman K. Reynolds, 3 — Lizzie M. Boardman, 1 — Isabel Bingay, 8- — A. C P., 

5 — Annie Mills and Louie Everett, all — Laura M. Jordan, 1 — Ella and Lulu, 8 — Mamie W. Aldrich, 3 — " Rose and Bud," 3 — M. E. H., 
3 — Walter B. Hull, 1 — Jessie White, 9 — Helen L. Woods, 2 — " James Shriver and Co.," 11 — Kate F. Smith, 1 — Georgia Jones, 3 — Willie 

F. Woolard, 7 — Nellie Caldwell, 5 — Charley and Minnie Powers, 1 — George H. Brown, 3 — Annie Buzzard, 4 — William and Adolph Gib- 
hardt, 5 — C. D. W. T. , 4 — John A. Archer, 2 — Ella M. Parker, 3 — H. Conover, 3 — Allie E. Burton, 8 — Clementine Bachelor, 10 — George 
R. Mosle, all — L. B. Longacre, 1 — "Queen Bess," 10— Abie R, Tyler, 11 — F. R. Gilbert, 1 — " Guesser," n — Grace M. Fisher, 4 — John 
S. Hunt, 9 — Kenneth B. Emerson, 3 — Charlotte F. Potter, 11 — Wilbur Lamphier, 9 — Glen A. Miscally, 1 — Rosemary Baum, 7 — Bessie 
Embler, 1 — Gertrude Jenkins, 6 — Charlie W. Power, 7 — F. W. Hoadley, 2 — Florence P. Jones, 2 — Hettie, Phebe, and Annie, 4 — "Bir- 
die," 3— "C. A. R.," 6—0. and W. Suckow, 3— Mauch Chunk, 9— Hallie B. Wilson, 3— Ellen L\ May, 7— B. B. Potrero, 4— Philip 
Sidney Carlton, 10. The numerals denote the number of puzzles solved. 






The first word defined is found by beheading and curtailing the 
second. Example: Human beings in auguries. Answer: Men- 

i, A basin in bondage. 2. Ourselves in a pitcher. 3. An occur- 
rence in a number. 4. A stage-player in a building where goods are 
made. 5. A fast in abundance. 6. A disturbance in a multitude. 
7. Brightness in bunches. 8. An idol in a Chinese temple. d. 



The faces of what three " characters " in Charles Dickens's story 
of " Oliver Twist " are portrayed in the above picture ? 


I AM composed of thirty-two letters, and am a quotation from 
Shakspeare's play of Richard II. 

My 4-18-16-30-19 is to accord. My 9-8-11-13 is to venture. My 
17-3-31-21 is a water-fowl. My 32-8-6 is an edible root. My 15- 
10—21-27 * s a cavity. My 26-2-22-29-28 is without color. My 
25-7-24-23 is to make search for. My 1-22-11 is a title of respect. 
My 21-5-14-32 is the title given to the wife of a lord. My 12-19- 31-20 
is adjacent. charlotte. 


Square: i. The seat of the affections. 2. Impetuous. 3. Acute 
pain. 4. Tears in pieces. 5. A place of meeting. 

Included Diamond: i. In May. 2. An era. 3. Acute pain. 
4. Conclusion. 5. In May. f. s. f. 


To the name of a famous American, now dead, add a consonant, 
and you will form a word signifying what, chiefly, he was. IVIE. 


Begin with a single letter, and add one letter at a time, perhaps, 
also, re-arranging the letter or letters already used. Each addition 
will enable you to make a new word. In the following presentation 
of the puzzles, the beginning letter is described first, and then come, 
one after another, in proper order, definitions of the words formed. 

I. Beginning with the vowel A, add a consonant, and form a short 
appellative for a near relation. Add other letters, one by one, and 
form, in succession, new words, meaning : an animal ; a fruit ; to 
festoon ; saved ; wretchedness : a place of delight ; to become 

II. A vowel; a pronoun; a bond; a flat piece of earthenware ; 

part of a fence ; a shining material ; feels a prickly sensation ; a 
young bird ; attending closely; shining with a fitful luster. 

III. A consonant ; a first person, present tense, of a verb ; a hu- 
man being ; the " high seas " ; an exaggerated whim ; a living creat- 
ure; consisting of thin plates or layers; pertaining to a border. 

IV. A vowel ; a pronoun; an amount; to meditate; one of the 
supposed founders of ancient Rome ; an assembly of troops for 
parade; a baggage-horse ; wind instruments of music. d. 


I 'm a singular creature, it must be confessed, 
Yet half of my queerness has never been guessed ; 
For though I am found near the head of a riot, 
I 'm always at home in the center of quiet. 
For me, men will sacrifice comfort and health ; 
For my special behoof they accumulate wealth ; 
Whate'er the pursuit, if there 's fame to be won, 
I — I am the spirit that urges them on ! 

Disposed to be friendly, with ease I 'm at strife, 
And appear at my best in political life; 
And though universal dominion I claim, 
The French and Italians ne'er whisper my name. 
I lead the Iconoclasts when they would break 
The idols and images I help to make, 
And such is my influence over mankind, 
Without my assistance they 'd soon become blind. 

With kings and with princes I freely consort, 

And with the nobility double my sport, 

Yet so independent my rank and my mien 

With queens, dukes, and emperors I am not seen. 

I 'm quite contradictory, too, in my speech, 

And by incivilities help to impeach 

My credit ; and such a strange creature am I 

Before lea I unite — after tea I untie. 



The primals form a motto that is heard upon a celebration day 
named by the finals. 

Cross-words: i. A forerunner. 2. A bird sometimes called 
"golden-robin." 3. Pertaining to coins. 4. Formed of sheets 
folded so as to make eight leaves. 5. A clergyman. 6. The muse of 
pastoral poetry. 7. Defensive armor for the head. 8. A high-priest 
of Israel. 9. A stringed musical instrument. 10. A fixed allowance 
of provisions. 11. Old-fashioned. 12. A view through an avenue. 
13. Springiness. M. c. D. 


I. My first is in come, and not in go; 
My second in bread, but not in dough; 
My third is in yes, and not in no ; 
My whole is a time when daisies blow. 

II. My first is in might, but not in power; 
My second in branch, but not in flower; 
My third is in darkness, and not in light; 
My fourth is in battle, but not in fight ; 
My fifth is in looked, but not in sought ; 
My sixth is in barter, but not in bought ; 
My seventh in sound, and also in noise ; 
My whole is a game much loved by boys. 



My whole, consisting of eight letters, signifies idolatrous nations. 

My 1-2 is a personal pronoun. My 1-2-3-4 is to warm. My 
1-2-3-4-5 is a cheerless tract of country. My 2-3-4 is to corrode. 
My 3-4-5-6-7-8 has been called the " City of Minerva." My 4-5-6-7 
is afterward. My 5-6-7-8 are domestic fowls. d. c. 


For wee Puzzlers, 

I am composed of fifteen letters, and am a pretty, spring flower. 

My 15-12-8-9-2 isasweet substance. My 13-14-n is what clothes 
are washed in. My 10-3-4-5 is sometimes used in making fences. 
My 1-6-7 ' s «sed in making pans. katie. 





With letters of a compound word describing the 
central illustration, spell five words that will prop- 
erly describe the smaller pictures. 


I AM water, yet made of hard metal 
season, and a help in 
measuring seasons; made 
of part of a tree, and of 

a whole 
sapling ; and 
where the fawn leaps, 
there am I. T. 


The removed letters, when 
arranged in the order here 
given, spell the name of a 
famous American writer. 

i. Behead a covering of 
a head, and leave atmos- 
phere. 2. Behead reveren- 
tial fear and leave a pronoun. 
3. Behead at what time and 
leave a fowl. 4. Behead a 
brier and leave the pride of 
applied to the measurement of 

junction. 6. Syncopate a garment and leave an animal. 
7. Curtail a fruit and leave a vegetable. 8. Syncopate 
a sovereign and leave cost. 9. Syncopate contemptible 
and leave a human being. 


rhinoceros. 5. 
horse's height 

head a 


This cross is formed of five diamonds, as indicated by 
the diagram, the outer letters of the central diamond being 
used also in forming the adjacent diamonds, which would 
be incomplete without them. Each of the four points of 
the central diamond is used three times; once as a point 
of its own block of stars, and once as a point of each of 
the two neighboring diamonds. The words of each dia- 
mond read the same across as up and down. 

I. Upper Left-hand Diamond. 1. In discover. 2. The 
name of a fairy-queen. 3. A man's name. 4. An insect. 
5. In combat. 

II. Upper Right-hand Diamond. 1. In rubber. 2. A 
meadow. 3. To commence. 4. Purpose. 5. In continue. 

III. Central Diamond, 1. In caliber. 2. A period of 
time. 3. A color. 4. Dread. 5. In diamond. 

IV. Lower Left-hand Diamond. 1. In defensible. 
2. A fur tippet. 3. A goal. 4. Dexterity. 5. In dwindle. 

V. Lower Right-hand Diamond. 1. In union. 2. The 
Greek name of Aurora. 3. Eminent. 4. Fixed. 5. In 
ended. dycie. 


Centrals: A beautiful fowl. Across: i. A beast of 
prey. 2. To make happy. 3. Mournful. 4. One hun- 
dred. 5. Watery vapor. 6. Adorns. 7. The Christian 
name of Mr. Micawber. h, g. 


In each of the following problems, a definition of the original word 
follows immediately the anagram made with its letters. 

1. Sad show ; darkness. 2. A true sign ; a written name. 3. Cart 
needs it; aids to identification. 4. No vile rout; violent change. 
5. I storm a pit ; an estimable quality. 6. A try for more ; calcu- 
lated to improve. 


I. 1. A shell-fish. 2. A kind of grain. 3. 4840 square yards. 
4. An edible root. II. 1. To plunge. 2. A useful metal. 3. Empty. 
4. Terminations. III. i. A small lake. 2. Above. 3. A river in 
Russia. 4. A dull color. f. a. w. 


Numerical Enigma. 

" Proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim, 
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything." 

Shakspeare' s Sonnets, No. xcviii. 

Rimless Wheel. All Fools. 

1. Amen. 2. Loan 

4. Fawn. 5. Omen. 6. Oven. 

7. Lion. 8. Soon. 

Quincunx. Across: r. Pray 

2. Rat. 3. Tire. 


Pi. Drive the nail aright, boys, 
Hit it on the head; 
Strike with all your might, boys, 

Ere the time has fled. 
Lessons you 've to learn, boys, 

Study with a will ; 
They who reach the top, boys, 
First must climb the hill. 
Four Easy Word-squares. I. 1. Hour. 2. 
4. Reel. II. 1. Soap. 2. Once. 3. Acme. 4. 


2. Vine. 3. 
4. Team. 


Ends. 4. Rest. IV. 1. Gnat. 

Arithmetical Puzzles. Addition : 1. Redstart. 2. Toma- 
hawk. 3. Catacomb. 4. Capsize. Subtraction: i. Defaulter. 
2. Canister. 3. Defilement. 4. Carpenter. Multiplication: i. 
Tartar. 2. Chowchow. 3. Bonbon. 4. So-so. Division: i. Dodq. 
3. Lean. 2. Sing Sing. 3. Aye-aye. 4. Motmot. 

Cross-word Enigma. Plutarch. 
Ode. 5. Outline Puzzle. April fool. 

Central Syncopations and Remainders. April fool. 1. 
BeAds. 2. CoPal. 3. FiRst. 4. Bairn. 5. TiLes. 6. DeFer. 7. 
MoOre. 8. DrOop. 9. HoLly. 
Drop-letter Puzzle. Panama Canal. 

Double Acrostic. Primals: Easter. Finals : Sunday. Cross- 
words: 1. EaveS. 2. AdieU. 3. SpurN. 4. TimiD. 5. ExtrA. 
6. RallY. 

Easter Card. All hail the Easter morn ! 

Progressive Enigma. Palestine. Charade. Abbotsford. 

3. Urge. Diamond, i. L. 2. LEa. 3. LeAns. 4. LeaNder. 5. AnDre. 

III. 1. 6. SEe. 7. R. 
Nine. 3. Double Diagonals, i. Dream. 2. Helen. 3. Utter. 4. Peter. 

5. Rover. 

The names of those who sent solutions of March puzzles will be found at the end of the " Letter-Box " in the present number. 

Solutions of the Anglo-Chinese Story were received before March 20, from Katie Payne — Herman A. Vedder — A. G. Gracie — For- 
dyce Aimee Warden — Juliette S. Ryall — J. O. — Henry K. White, Jr. — Bessie S. Hosmer — Mary R. Magruder — Minnie Gliick — Margaret 
Howard — Bessie Finch — Bertha Stevens — Norman J. McMillan — Barclay A. Scovil — Jessie R. C. — Lizzie M. Boardman — George A. 
Corson — An Old Subscriber — Helen L. Woods — Albert F. Pasquay— M. McLure — F. R. Gilbert — Bessie Embler — Robert A. Gaily— 

Lucy B. Shaw — Susie Goff. 








>■ HI 
Q <g 


Vol. VIII. 

JUNE, 1881. 

No. 8. 

[Copyright, 1881, by Scribner & Co.] 


By Sarah J. Prichard. 

The peculiarity of the Steele family lay in the 
fact that all their individual names began with the 
letter A. 

Anthony Steele lived on the hill that stretched 
away from Mad River, in a long, bare, lonely lift 
of land, that looked, when you were below, as 
though it might be the very topmost height in the 
universe. His home was a red, roomy farm-house, 
and he was the venerable A. Steele, who had stood 
face to face with Indians, on the same spot, years 
before. Under the hill, near the river, was a story- 
and-a-half cottage, white and snug, where Albert 
Steele, the miller, lived. 

Lastly, there was, close to the river, the brown 
grist-mill, with its biggest-in-the-region water- 
wheel, to which all the folk came, from far and 
from near, fetching their rye, wheat, corn, oats, 
and buckwheat to be ground. 

March came, and the mill was full of grain. 
The earth began to stir and move uneasily beneath 
her snowy wraps, as though weary of her attire, and 
anxious for a change. First, she trimmed her gar- 
ments with icicle-fringe. But that was stiff, and 
creaked and rattled to pieces when the wind blew, 
and made one feel as though things in general 
were about to break up. 

Nature has spasms, and one was coming on. 

The water-wheel had been out of order, and the 
winter had been so cold that very little had been 
ground in the mill ; but now the wheel was as good 
as new, and so much grain was at hand that the 
heart of Albert Steele, miller, beat high with hope. 

The miller had four children. Andrew Steele 

Vol. VIII.— 37. 

(sixteen) looked at the length of wrist and arm be- 
low his coat-sleeve, and hoped that now a longer 
sleeve in a new coat would soon cover up his year's 
growth. Ann Steele, pretty as the May-flower, 
made the spinning-wheel fly, and had visions of a 
white dress for the next Fourth of July. Augustus 
Steele just hoped that now father would feel rich 
enough to let him have on his sled the iron run- 
ners that he had been waiting for pretty much ever 
since he could remember. Abby Steele, in the 
cradle, wanted her dinner, and cried for it, which 
cry drew Ann from her vision and the wheel, to lift 
up her motherless little sister ; for there was no 
Mrs. Albert Steele to hope or wish for anything 
from the old mill on Mad River. 

Nature's spasm was very near now. Sun, clouds, 
rain caused it. 

" It'll be the biggest freshet that ever was," said 
the sage of the red house, when the rain began. 

" I don't feel quite easy about the mill," said the 
owner of it, when ten hours' rain had fallen. The 
snow could accommodate ten hours' rain very well, 
in its many-crystalled chambers on a thousand hill- 
sides, and it did hold it without moving. 

The next morning, everybody thereabout thought 
of bridges and of wash-outs — although there was 
not, at that time, a railroad within ninety miles 
of Mad River — and of taxes ; for taxes began when 
the "Mayflower" paid wharfage to the Indians 
at Plymouth Rock, and have gone steadily on, 
beginning without ending, from that day to this. 

Below the mill, a few hundred feet, there was a 
foot-bridge, the delight of boys and of daring girls, 




but the terror of persons with nerves, whether 
young or old. It was like the half of an immense 
barrel-hoop, rising over the river, with its ends 
set into the banks. The rise and the round of 
this bridge were such that cleats were nailed up 
and down its sides, and a very shaky hand-rail had 
been provided to climb by. These cleats were 
constantly getting loose, helped oftentimes by 
small lads. 

And to think that on this rainy March morning, 
of all mornings in that year, Albert Steele should 
be taken down with rheumatism ! — the effect of his 
efforts of yesterday in getting home the sheep from 
across the river, in case of a freshet, which now 
seemed inevitable. He had driven them through 
the snow-water, and around by the wagon-bridge, 
above the fall a half-mile, and had been out 
until after the night came, making things snug at 
the mill, and so, as has been written, he was on 
this morning helpless. Before any one was up in 
the house, there came a thundering knock at the 
side-door, and a voice sang out : 

"Ho! miller!— Ho! " 

"Ho yourself! Who 's there?" responded 

Andrew spoke from the little four-paned window, 
just beneath the point where the roofs joined. 

"Call your father, quick! I want to get corn 
ground in a hurry, before the river breaks up. 
Must be done ! " answered a breezy voice. 

But, as we know, Mr. Albert Steele could grind 
no corn that day ; he had been suffering terribly 
all night from the pain of his rheumatism, and 
Andrew so told the man. 

" Come along yourself, then, and 1 '11 help you, 
for my critters '11 starve to death, unless, indeed, I 
should give 'em whole corn," said the young man. 

Andrew had never run the mill in his life, but 
he had helped often enough to know what should 
be done. The upper gate and the lower gate were 
raised, and the big wheel felt the stir of the water 
in its every bucket. In tumbled the corn from 
bag after bag into the hopper, and the upper mill- 
stone ground on the nether millstone, and the 
yellow corn became yellow meal, and was poured 
into the bags, and away went their owner, happy 
over his success. When he was gone, Andrew 
ate breakfast, and down came the water faster and 
in greater volume every instant ; and the old mill 
thundered at every swift revolution of the great 
wheel, that actually groaned on its axis, as the 
water plunged and splashed, filling the wheel-race 
with foam. 

Meanwhile, honey and buckwheat cakes kept 
Andrew busy at the table, until Augustus, who 
had breakfasted while his brother played miller, 
opened a door and called out : 

" Father wants to know if Mr. Cook helped you 
shut the gates." 

"Oh my!" whispered Andrew. "Don't tell 
Father, but the gates are both wide open. Come 
on, Gus, and we '11 get 'em down." 

Away went the boys. They darted under the 
door-way and ran through the mill to the race and 
the upper gate. The current was very strong ; 
the race itself could not hold all the water that 
came to it. The force of it resisted the lads' united 
strength, for the water was full now of slush. ' 

Ann stood in the door-way, baby Abby in her 
arms, and watched the boys at work. 

" There 's something wrong at the mill, Father,"' 
she said. " I 'm going to run down and see, if 
you '11 hold Abby." 

The poor miller sat there, helpless, and groan- 
ing away his troubles to the baby, while Ann 
appeared at the race, sledge-hammer in hand. 

"You must stop it at once," she cried, "or the 
wheel will break, and then what would become 
of us ? " 

With mighty blows from as many hands as 
could lay hold on the hammer, the gate went 
slowly down as far as it could be driven, and, by 
the time the lower gate was reached, it was easy 
to close that, but still the water came from some- 
where. The old mill fairly shook amid the creak- 
ing cries of its straining wheels and timbers. 

" The river is breaking up ! The ice is coming 
over the fall ! The water is up to the mill-floor ! " 
cry one and another in horror. 

"Out, out with the meal! Let us save all we 
can," shouts Andrew. "I can manage one bag, 
and you two can carry another. Take these 

One, two, ten, twenty, forty bags of corn and 
rye the young Steeles saved before the water drove 
them out of the mill. And the wheel worked faster 
than ever all the time, and the air was full of the 
rush and the roar of Mad River at its breaking up. 

Meanwhile, the miller himself set the baby a-cry- 
ing out of pure sympathy with her papa's lamenta- 
tions (but children did not say "papa" in those 
days), for he verily believed that he should be 
compelled to sit there until the flood came and 
carried him away — so long were the children gone,, 
and so alarmed was he at the thundering noises. 

He was about to do something desperate with 
Abby, when the arbutus face — a little poppy-like 
now, it must be owned — appeared in the door-way 
with : 

"Oh, Father! I 'm afraid the mill will go down, 
but we 've saved every bit of John Lathrop's rye, 
and Mr. Holmes's wheat. We thought we 'd get 
theirs, 'cause they 'd need it most, and the river is 
rising so fast that you can see it come up, and — 




and — but here comes Grandfather! He 's man- 
aged to come down the hill this morning." 

" Where 's your father? Where 's your father? 
Where's your father?" resounded through the 
kitchen before Ann had time to get into that room 
and to reply. 

" Dreadful times, Ann, my dear," he said, "but 
I think there is n't much danger of the house's 
going, though there is an awful power of snow up 
the valley, to get away somehow. Don't be fright- 
ened, child," he added, as the warm color paled in 
the girl's face. "I 've seen many a freshet in my 
time, and paid taxes for more new bridges than — I 
declare, Albert, you down again with the rheuma- 
tism ! Too bad ! Too bad ! We 'd better manage 
to get you up the hill afore night," he ran on. 
" Meanwhile, I '11 see to things at the mill. Don't 
you worry now, my boy. Your old father is worth 
something yet," and away went the good old 
man, peering here and looking there, to see to this 
and that, and feeling very glad that all the sheep 
and the cows were on the hill side of the river. It 
would be so easy to escape up the long lift of land. 
Anthony Steele had built his house up there with 
due regard to possible times like the present one. 

Nowhere could he find Andrew and Augustus. 
They had disappeared from sight. 

"Where are the boys, Ann ? " called their father. 
"Why don't the boys come and see me? I want 
to speak to them." 

Ann heard, but something made her hesitate. 

"Ann, call the boys!" came, at last, in a tone 
that she felt, and that made her paler than she had 
been before. 

"Father!" she said, "they wont hear me. 
They 've gone ! " 

" Gone where ?" he thundered. "Where could 
the rascals go to, when we are all on the verge of 
destruction ? " 

" They went over the foot-bridge, Father, and I 
thought it would go while they were on it, it shook 
so ; and they were hardly off it before one end gave 
way, and it snapped in two in the middle, and 
now it hangs by the other end." 

" What on earth are they gone for ? " questioned 
Mr. Steele. 

"Why, Father, can't you guess? It's Hester 
and her mother that they thought of. You know, 
somebody must save them." 

"Oh, this rheumatism, this rheumatism! Ann 
Steele, do as your father tells you, and never marry 
a man whose father or mother, or uncle or aunt, 
ever had the rheumatism. Get out my crutches! 
Be quick about it, and get my great-coat. My 
boys! My boys!" he groaned. "Father," he 
added, as the good white head appeared at the 
door, "the boys have gone to try and save Hester 

Pratt and her crazy mother. I am afraid we shall 
never see them again." 

" Why, I never thought of the Pratts. They arc 
right in the heart of the flood ! Their house must 
have been surrounded early this morning. May 
the Lord forgive me for thinking only of my own, 
and so little of His other children ! " 

Meanwhile, no remonstrance kept Albert Steele 
from donning his great-coat and hobbling about on 
his crutches, in the vain effort to see down the 
stream to the mite of a house on the river-bank 
where sweet Hester Pratt spent her young life in 
caring for her insane mother, who was too weak 
and too helpless to harm a living soul. 

When the boys started, they seized, instinctively, 
a coil of rope from the mill. As they crossed the 
bridge, they made the two ends fast, and clung 
each to the other, or rather clung to the rope, one 
end of which Augustus carried, while Andrew held 
the other. 

On the farther side of the bridge they plunged 
into the river's overflow, and were again and again 
nearly forced to go down with the current. 

" Hold on, Gus! Hold on, laddy ! Remember 
everybody, and the baby," shouted Andrew (the 
baby was Augustus's pet), as the younger boy 
gasped. " Andy, I c-a-n-t get o-n — I 'm go-ing 
d-own ! " he shrieked. He lost his footing and 
went under, carried down by the current, but still 
clinging fast to the rope. 

In that moment, Andrew Steele became a dozen 
boys in one. He fought with ice-cakes, and water, 
and current ; fought for the little figure that was 
bobbing up and down. So near, and yet so far ! 
But he felt the strain on the rope, and it gave him 

There was no human eye to witness the strife, as 
he got to his brother and struggled with him to 
the firm land, on which the boys sank for a 

" That was a pretty bad time, was n't it, Bub ? " 
said Augustus, as soon as his eyes and ears were 
clear of water. " I don't want any more of that." 

" Oh, we pulled out first-rate, and now we must 
hurry, or there wont be a stone left in poor Hester's 
chimney, for I don't see how the house is going to 
stand up before this flood. May be it is gone now." 

But the house with the stone chimney was not 
gone, and presently, it came into view. 

"Good gracious!" cried Andrew, as he took in 
the sight. The cottage looked lower and smaller 
than ever. It was standing, window-deep, in a sea 
of snow-water, with ice-cakes thumping at the door 
every moment. 

" Oh, they are out. Somebody must have thought 
of 'em. I know somebody must, " argued Augustus, 
as they tramped through the water-soaked snow. 

5 8o 



"Anyhow, we '11 make sure of it. We are the 
nearest to 'em, and if we did n't think, who would ? 
I declare, Gus, do see how the river rises ! It 's 
mad enough now, goodness knows, and I do believe 
the covered bridge will boom down and take the 
mill with it." They struggled on. 

" See ! see ! the water is running in at the win- 
dows this minute. Run, Gus, run, or we can't get 
near the house." 

They lost no time, poor wet lads, in getting to 
the highway and to the verge of the running water 
that came up to the road. The little house lay 
below the road, between it and the river, but well 
above the touch of an ordinary freshet. 

" Let us call out," said Andrew. 

" Hester! Hester ! " they screamed. 

All was silent within. 

" Nobody there," thought Gus. 

" But, suppose they are drowned in there. I 'm 
going in," announced Andrew. 

"Oh! Andy, Andy, don't. I can't spare you. 
Wait till somebody comes along." 

"No time to wait. I must find out," urged 

Even as he spoke, he ran to the stoutest tree by 
the road-side and swung a rope-end about it, made 
it fast, and said to Gus : 

" You stand by, whatever happens, and you pull 
with a will when I give the signal." 

"Good-bye, Andy," whimpered Gus, shaking in 
his wet clothes, as his brother with the rope stepped 
into the cold flood. 

At that moment a sash was raised in an upper 
window, and a pale, agonized face glanced up the 
river, and from that to the clouds. 

Gus saw that it was Hester, and that she was 
praying, although no word escaped her lips. 

She did not see the small figure standing by the 
great tulip-tree across the road, but suddenly Gus 
called out : 

" Open the door for Andy ! Andy is at the 
door. Let him in, quick ! " 

The sash was left up ; the face disappeared. 
Never did feet descend steps with more willing 
speed to admit succor. As soon as Hester could 
get away the packing at the sill, the door was 
opened, Andy climbed in, and the door closed. 
The water went in with him. 

"Hester! where 's your mother?" was the first 

"In bed; and oh, Andy! I Ve had such hard 
work to keep her from knowing. She thinks we 've 
moved down by the sea, and she likes the waves so 
much. Oh, Andy, you must n't stay. You must 
go right now, or you '11 go down too. Go ! Go ! " 
she begged. 

" I am going, and you, too." 

" I '11 never leave my mother — never, Andy 

"Of course not. Do as I tell you. Get a lot 
of dry blankets — all you can carry — bundle 'em 
up, quick." The blankets were tumbled out of a 
big chest that stood handy, and were wrapped up. 

"Now, tell your mother that you've taken 
another house, 'cause the tide comes too high 
here, and you just wrap a blanket around her, and 
give her to me. I 'm going to carry her." 

Hester obeyed, and her mother assented, with- 
out trouble. She even permitted the rope to be 
tied about her waist. 

" Got a clothes-line, Hester?" asked Andy. 

" Right here," answered Hester. 

"Put it around your waist, and give me the 
other end, in case anything happens to you while I 
am gone." 

"Now, Ave are all ready. Going to move into 
another house, Mrs. Pratt," said Andy, gently. 
* ' I '11 carry you." 

" Hester, Hester, .Hester, Hester," moaned Mrs. 
Pratt. She never forgot Hester, even when she 
was at the wildest. She clung to that name, and 
it seemed sometimes as if that name were the 
one little ray of reason left in her darkened life. 

" Yes, Mother; I 'm going, too, but you know I 
can't carry you. You must let him," coaxed 

She let him help, and, together, Andy and 
Hester lifted the light figure from the bed, and 
splashed through the water with it to the door, 
which Hester threw open. 

It was not more than sixty feet to the highway 
and safety. The little rope-man stood at his post 
by the tulip-tree. 

" Steady, now, Gus," signaled Andy. " Let go, 
Hester, and mind the line. You stay till I come 
for you." 

Andy put a stout young arm about Mrs. Pratt's 
waist, and, mustering all his strength, plunged 
with her into the flood, knowing that every step 
would be a step into less of water. 

The cold flood arose about the poor woman — so 
wan, so weak, so insane ! She gave one shriek 
that might have pierced any heart ; and then she 
shivered and clung and clung, and, but for the 
steadying rope that Gus drew, she would have 
taken Andrew from his feet. 

" It 's all right, now, Mrs. Pratt," said the boy, as 
he got where he could lift her more easily and 
make his way out of the water. 

"Yes, it 'sail right, "said Mrs. Pratt; "but where 
is Hester? I want Hester." 

"What the mischief!" cried a man on horse- 
back, suddenly splashing into the scene, his horse 
breathing twenty breaths a minute, as he threw 




himself off, and proceeded to receive the helpless 
figure that Andrew bore. 

" I thought I should be in time," he gasped. 
" Never rode a horse so in my life." 

" I 'm going now for Hester," said Andrew, pay- 
ing no attention to the horseman's remarks, "and 
for some dry blankets. I 'II hurry. " 

"Better let me go !" said the new-comer, who 
held Mrs. Pratt. 

" Save Hester. Go ! " moaned Mrs. Pratt. 

For the third time that day, Andrew Steele 
plunged into the cold flood. 

" Hold the bundle as high as ever you can, 
Hester ! " said Andy, as Hester awaited him. 

The water had become deeper. He swam with 
her a few strokes. He whispered, as he put her 
on her feet and received the bundle to paddle 
out with, and she heard the whisper above the 
flood, as Andy softly said : "I — I believe, Hester, 
that your mother is all right now." 

"All right?" demanded Hester. " Andy Steele, 
what do you mean ? Tell me ! " 

" Go and speak to her," was Andy's answer, 
" and you '11 find out, may be." 

" Here I am, Mother," said Hester, approaching 
her gently ; " and we '11 soon be in the new house, 
now," she added. 

"Hester! Hester! My child! My darling ! 
Why, Hester, I have n't seen such a flood since I 
was a little bit of a girl ; and Father carried me out 
then ; and the water made me feel, I remember, 
just as it did to-day." 

Certainly, these were not words of insanity, such 
as Hester was sadly accustomed to hear from her. 

Hester Pratt's fingers shook, and her heart was 
all a-tremble with gladness, as she and Augustus 
got the blanket-bundle open, and wrapped many 
a fold about the shivering figure. 

" Did n't I tell you so?" whispered Andrew, as the 
tears began to well over from Hester's happy eyes. 

" We must get out of this as soon as possible, or 
the highway will be covered before we can strike 
away from it ! " exclaimed the horseman, for the 
water was rising faster than ever. 

" There goes the bridge ! There '11 be no getting 
home to-night ! " cried Gus, as sections of the cov- 
ered bridge from above the mill went rushing down. 

"My father helped build that bridge. I re- 
member it," said Mrs. Pratt, feebly. 

The new-comer, Augustus, and Andrew lifted 
the blanket on which they had laid the invalid, 
and prepared to march to the nearest house — 
Hester led the still panting pony. And it was her 
mother who had told her she "ought not to ride 
when so chilled and wet." Was not this what any 
mother would say to her daughter ? Hester felt 
no chill, although her flesh was shaking — she would 
have walked forever in wet garments, with such joy 
in her heart, to keep it warm. 

"After so many years!" she murmured. 
"After so many years, she will get well, at last — at 
last ! " she repeated, her eyes fondly resting on the 
covered figure, borne on the blanket in front of her, 
and then on the seething waters, that rushed and 
crept, and crept and rushed even into the road-bed, 
as they went onward. 

"Oh, you blessed, blessed Mad River!" cried 
Hester, in her joy, forgetting herself. 

"What 's the matter?" called back the bearers 
in front. 

"Nothing," answered the happy follower; at 
which answer, the pony whinnied a remonstrance, 
and deliberately poked his nose over Hester's shoul- 
der into her face. 

That same afternoon, the Pratt cottage was 
swept away. News went over the flood that the 
boys were all right ; but no code of signals then 
known could tell the glad tidings that Hester 
Pratt's mother was no longer "that poor crazy 
woman." Steele's Mill stood through the freshet, 
and, for a generation afterward, ground wheat and 
corn. Mr. Steele's rheumatism left him after a few 
weeks. The covered bridge, in due time, was re- 
built; but the quaint hoop-bridge with its shaky 
hand-rail was not "built up," and that river will 
never know its like again. 

Hester Pratt rejoiced for many years in a sweetly 
sane mother, her sanity the work of a Mad River 
freshet. And of all the friends who rejoiced with 
them, there was none more truly happy than the lad 
who had carried the poor woman through the flood. 
So nobody was surprised when, later on, Hester 
and her mother went to live with him, and joined 
the respected family of the A. Steeles. 




By Caroline A. Mason. 

they chatter together, — the robins and sparrows, 

Bluebirds and bobolinks, — all the day long, 
What do they talk of? — The sky and the sunshine, 
The state of the weather, the last pretty song; 

Of love and of friendship, and all the sweet trifles 
That go to make bird-life so careless and free; 

The number of grubs in the apple-tree yonder, 
The promise of fruit in the big cherry-tree ; 

Of matches in prospect ; — how Robin and Jenny 
Are planning together to build them a nest ; 

How Bobolink left Mrs. Bobolink moping 

At home, and went off on a lark with the rest. 

Such mild little slanders ! such innocent gossip ! 
Such gay little coquetries, pretty and bright ! 
Such happy love-makings ! such talks in the orchard ! 
Such chatterings at daybreak ! such whisperings at night ! 

O birds in the tree-tops ! O robins and sparrows ! 

O bluebirds and bobolinks ! what would be May 
Without your glad presence, — the songs that you sing us, 

And all the sweet nothings we fancy you say ? 


By Paul Fort. 

A large black beetle, with a pair of pincers in 
front, like the claws of a little lobster, was hurrying 
through the forest on a summer day, when he was 
accosted by a lizard. 

"Oh, Beetle," said the lizard, "where are you 
going so fast ? I never saw you in such haste 

" I am trying to find something," said the beetle, 
" and I must not stop." 

"What are you trying to find?" asked the 
lizard, who was very inquisitive. "Tell me what 
it is. I can run fifty times quicker than you, and 
can easily slip into nooks and crannies. I am sure 
I can find it, whatever it is. Is it anything that 
has been lost, or is it something that has to be 
discovered ?" 

"It is something that has been lost," said the 
beetle, a little vexed at being delayed. 

"What is it, then? and whom does it belong 
to ? " asked the lizard. 

"I do not wish to tell you," said the beetle. 
" There is a reward." 

"Oh !" said the lizard. " Will you tell me if I 

"Yes," replied the beetle, still hurrying on; 
"but you can't do it. You would never think of 
the right thing." 

"Will you let me try twenty questions?" asked 
the lizard. 

" Yes," said the beetle. 

"Is it animal, vegetable, or mineral?" 


" Useful or ornamental?" 


"Is it manufactured?" 





" What are its dimensions?" 

"It is about as long as I am with my legs 
stretched out; but it is much larger around." 

"Ah!" said the lizard, "is it in the shape of a 
cylinder ?" 

"Not exactly," replied the beetle. 

"Is it larger at one end than the other?" 


" Is it heavy or light?" 


"Is it solid or hollow?" 


"What is its color?" 

"Its general color is yellowish brown, but one 
end of it has several colors." 

"A light vegetable substance," said the lizard 
to himself; " made useful by being manufactured; 
as long as a beetle, and something like a cylinder, 
only larger at one end than the other ; 
and ornamented with colors at one 
end. I believe it is a cork stopper. " 
"Is it a cork stopper for a bottle or 
a jar?" he then asked, aloud. 

"Yes," answered the beetle, "but 
you don't know whom it belongs to." 

"I have ten questions left," said 
the lizard. " Does it belong to a man 
or a woman ? " 

" A woman." 

"It must be for a bottle," said the 
lizard, ' ' for such a cork would be too 
small for a jar. Is it for a bottle ? " 

" Yes," said the beetle. 

" Is the stuff in the bottle useful, or 
for pleasure only ? " asked the lizard. 

"For pleasure only." 

" Then it must be a perfume," said 
the lizard. " Does it belong to a high- 
born lady?" 

"It does." 

The lizard thought for a moment. 
■"Does it belong to the mistress of 
yon castle ? " he asked. 

" Yes," said the beetle. 

" Then it is the stopper of the per- 
fume-bottle of the mistress of yon 
castle," said the lizard. 

" That is it," replied the beetle. 

" And five questions to spare," said 
the lizard. Then he went on : 

"I '11 help you to find it, and I shall 
only ask you to give me a quarter of 
the reward, —if we should succeed in winning it." 

" All right ! " replied the beetle, who was afraid 
the lizard would go and look for the lost stopper 
on his own account, and get all the reward, if he 
should not take him into partnership. 

"You can find out anything in the world by 
asking twenty questions," said the lizard, who now 
seemed to be very much pleased with himself. 

" I believe you can," replied the beetle. 

They now journeyed on for some distance, when, 
passing a little thicket of ferns, they saw a small 
dwarf, not much bigger than either of them, asleep 
under a toad-stool. He was an old dwarf, for he 
had a long white beard, and he held in his lap a 
pickax, made of a strong twig, with two sharp 
thorns growing from one end of it. 

" Hi ! " whispered the lizard. " Here is one of 
those digging dwarfs. Let 's capture him, and 
make him look for the stopper. If it has fallen into 
any crack, and been covered up by earth, he can 
dig for it." 

" That is true," said the beetle. " But shall we 
have to give him any of the reward ? " 


" Oh, we can give him a little," said the lizard. 
"He will not expect much." 

"But how are we to catch him?" asked the 
beetle. " If he hits one of us with that pickax, it 
will hurt." 




"It will not hurt you," said the lizard. "Your 
shell is so hard. I am quite soft, so I will keep out 
of his way. I will climb on top of the toad-stool, 
and you can creep up, and seize him by the ankle 
with your pincers. Then, when he wakes up, he 
will see me sticking out my tongue over his head, 
and he will be frightened, and will surrender." 

It all happened as the lizard said it would. The 
beetle slipped up quietly to the dwarf, and, turning 
over on one side, so as to get a better hold, he 
seized him by the ankle. The dwarf woke up 
suddenly, was greatly frightened at seeing the 
lizard making terrible faces above him, and surren- 
dered. His captors then told him what they were 
trying to find, and ordered him to come and help 

They all went on together, and the dwarf said to 
the beetle : 

" If you had pinched a little harder, you would 
have taken off my foot." 

" If you had not surrendered," replied the beetle, 
" I might have been obliged to do so ; but if you 
will help us cheerfully, no harm shall come to 

For a long time the three searched the woods 
diligently. They looked under every leaf, and in 
every crack ; and the dwarf dug with his pick in 
many spots where the lizard thought the ground 
looked as if a cork stopper were concealed beneath 
it. But no stopper could they find. 

"It is very necessary that it should be found," 
said the beetle. "One of the pages told me all 
about it. It was lost in these very woods, three 
days ago, by the lady of yon castle. And, since 
that time, her maids of honor have been obliged to 
take turns in holding their thumbs over the top 
of her perfume-bottle, to keep the valuable odor 
from escaping; and they are getting very tired 
of it." 

After more fruitless search, the beetle and the 
lizard said that they must go and take a nap, for 
they were much fatigued ; but they told the dwarf 
he must keep on looking for the stopper, for he had 
had his nap under the toad-stool. 

When he was left to himself, the dwarf did not 
look very long for the stopper. " It will be a great 
deal easier," he said to himself, "to make a new 
cork stopper than to find that old one. I will make 
a new cork stopper for the lady in yon castle." 

So he looked about until he found a cork-tree. 
Then, with his little pickax, he chipped off a 
small portion of the rough outer bark from the 
lower part of the trunk, and carefully cut out a 
piece of the soft cork which grew beneath. This 
piece was nearly as big as himself, but he lifted it 
easily, for it was so light ; and carried it to his own 
house, which was not far away, in the forest. 

There he took a sharp little knife, and carved and 
cut the cork into the shape of a bottle-stopper ; 
making it very small at one end and large at the 
other, so that it would fit almost any bottle. With 
a small file he made it smoother than any cork 
stopper ever seen before. The lower end was cut 
off flat, while the top was beautifully rounded. 
Then he took some paint and little brushes, and 
painted the top in curious designs of green, and 
gold, and red. When he had finished it, it was 
the most beautiful cork stopper ever seen. 

Then he put it on his shoulder and ran with it 
to the place where he had left the beetle and the 
lizard, taking their naps. 

"Hi! hi!" cried the two companions, when 
they awoke. " Have you really found it ? " 

"No," said the truthful dwarf, "there was no 
use in looking any longer for that old stopper, and 
I have made a new one, which, I am sure, will fit 
the perfume-bottle of the lady of yon castle. Let 
us hurry, and take it to her. I am sure she would 
much rather have the new stopper than to find the 
old one." 

" We should think so, indeed ! " cried the 
others. And they all set off for the castle together. 

When the lizard, the beetle, and the dwarf — the 
latter carrying the stopper on his shoulder — ap- 
peared at the castle, they were welcomed with 
great joy. The stopper was put into the lady's 
perfume-bottle, and it was found to fit exactly. 
Then everybody cheered merrily, especially the 
maids of honor, with their tired thumbs. 

"But," said the lady of the castle, "my lost 
stopper is not found after all." 

"No," said the dwarf, "it is not, but this one 
fits just as well, does it not ? " 

" Yes," said the lady, "but I wanted the same 
one that I lost." 

"But is not this just as pretty?" asked the 

"It is a great deal prettier," said the lady, 
" but it is not the one. It is not the stopper I 
lost, and which I hoped to get back again." 

"But it keeps the smell in just as well, does it 
not ? " said the dwarf, a little crossly. 

"Yes," answered the lady, "but that does not 
make it the same stopper, does it ? " 

"Oh, pshaw!" said the dwarf. "I think that 
will do just as well as the old one. It fits just as 
well, and it is a great deal prettier ; and the old 
one can't be found. I think everybody ought to 
be satisfied with this new stopper, and forget all 
about the old one." 

" So do we ! " said the lizard and the beetle. 

" And so do we," cried the maids of honor, and 
all the courtiers, and the people who stood about. 

" Well," said the lady," I suppose it will have to 




do. It is very pretty, and it fits, and the reward 
can be paid to these little creatures. But it is not 
the same stopper, after all." 

The reward was a large golden pitcher, with en- 
graved sides. It was too heavy for the dwarf, the 
beetle, and the lizard to carry away with them, and 
they had to leave it on the shelf where it stood. 
But they had the satisfaction of knowing that it was 
their own. 

"Let me go," said the dwarf, as he hurried 
away, "to finish my nap under a toad-stool. It 
may not be the same toad-stool I was sleeping 

under before ; but, if it is just as good, it will do 
quite as well. I have never heard as much silly 
talk as I have heard this day. If a thing is just 
as good as another thing, what difference does it 
make whether it is the same thing or not ? " 

" It makes no difference at all," said the lizard; 
" but some people are so particular. We ought to 
be satisfied with what we can get." 

"Yes," said the beetle. "That is true ; and I 
want you to understand that the handle of the 
pitcher is yours. The dwarf can have the spout, 
and all the rest is mine. Let us be satisfied." 


My grandma met a fair gallant one day, 
And, blushing, gave the gentleman a daisy. 

Now, if your grandma acted in that way, 

Would you not think the dear old soul was crazy ? 
O — h, Grandmamma ! 

And then the gentleman bent smiling down, 

And told my grandma that he loved her dearly ; 

And grandma, smiling back, forgot to frown, 
— Ah, Grandpa nods ! So he recalls it clearly ? 
O—h, Grandpapa ! 

5 86 



By Susan Coolidge. 

A certain young mastiff being near dog's 
estate, his master judged best to trim and shorten 
his ears. This the mastiff thought hard, and 
complained accordingly. But as he grew older and 
met dogs of various tempers, he was often obliged 
to fight for himself and his rights : then his short 
ears gave great advantage, for they furnished no 
hold to the enemies' teeth, while the long-eared 
dogs, whom he had formerly envied, came from 
the fray torn and suffering. "Aha!" said the 
mastiff, " my master knew better than I what 
was good for me." — Old Fable. 

" But why must n't I ? " said Towser. 

Towser was not a dog, as you might suppose, 
but the nickname of a boy. Exactly why his 
school-fellows should have chosen this nickname 
for Tom Kane I don't know ; perhaps because his 
brown, short-nosed face was a little like a dog's — 
perhaps because he was bold and resolute, a good 
fighter, and tough in defense of his rights and 
opinions. I hardly think it was this last reason, 
however. Boys are not much given to analyzing 
character, and are apt to judge things and peo- 
ple by a happy-go-lucky instinct, which some- 
times leads them right and sometimes wrong. But 
whatever the reason may have been, Towser was 

Tom's school-name, and stuck to him through life. 
Even his wife called him so, — when he grew up and 
had a wife, — and the last time I saw him, his little 
girl was stroking his hair and saying, " Papa Tow- 
ser," in imitation of her mother. Towser is n't a 
pretty name, but it sounded pretty from Baby 
May's lips, and I never heard that Tom objected 
to the title, either as man or boy. 

But to return to the time when he was a boy. 

" Why must n't I?" he said again. "All the 
fellows are going except me, and 1 'd like to, ever 
so much." 

"It is n't a question of like," answered his 
father, rather grimly. "It 's a question of can 
and can't. All the other boys have rich fathers ; 
or, if not rich, they are not poor like me. It 's well 
enough that their sons should go off on camping 
parties. Twenty-five dollars here and twenty 
there is n't much to any of 'em, but it 's a great 
deal for you. And what 's more, Tom, there 's this : 
that if they 'd take you for nothing, it is n't a 
good thing for you, any way you fix it. I pay for 
your schooling, and I paid for those boxing lessons, 
and may be, another year, I '11 manage the subscrip- 
tion to the boat, for I want you to grow up strong 
and ready with your fists, and your mind, and all 
parts of you. You '11 have to fight your way, my 



boy, and I want you to turn out true grit when the 
tussle comes. But when it 's a case of camping 
out a week, or extra holidays, or spending money 
for circuses and minstrels and such trash, I shut 
down. You '11 be all the better off in the end 
without this fun and idling and getting your head 
full of the idea of always having a 'good time.' 
Work 's what you 're meant for, and if you don't 
thank me now for bringing you up tough, you will 
when you 're a man, with may be a boy of your 

Mr. Kane was a silent, gruff, long-headed man, 
who never wasted words, and this, the longest 
speech he had ever been known to make, im- 
pressed Towser not a little. He did say to himself, 
in a grumbling tone, " Pretty hard, I think, to be 
cut off so at every turn," but he said it softly, and 
only once, and before long his face cleared, and, 
taking his hat, he went to tell the boys that he 
could n't join the camping party. 

"Well, I say it's a confounded shame!" de- 
clared Tom White. 

" I call your pa real mean," j'oined in Archie 

"You 'd better not call him anything of the 
kind while I 'm around," said Towser, with an 
angry look in his eyes, and Archie shrank and 
said no more. Tom was vexed and sore enough 
at heart, but he was n't going to let any boy speak 
disrespectfully of his father. 

"I say, though," whispered Harry Blake, get- 
ting his arm around Tom's neck, and leading him 
away from the others, "I 'm real disappointed, old 
fellow. Couldn't it be managed? I 'd lend you 
half the money." 

Harry's mother was a widow, well off, and very 
indulgent, and he had more pocket-money at com- 
mand than any one else in the school. 

Towser shook his head. 

"No use," he said. " Father don't want me to 
go, for more reasons than the money. He says I 've 
got to work hard all my life, and I 'd better not get 
into the way of having good times ; it 'd soften me, 
and I 'd not .do so well by and by." 

"How horrid!" cried Harry, with a shudder. 
" I 'm glad Mother does n't talk that way." 

Harry Blake was fair and slender, with auburn 
hair, which waved naturally, and a delicate throat 
as white as a girl's. 

Tom looked at him with a sort of rough, pitying 

" I 'm glad, too," he said. " You 'd die if you 
had to rough it much, Harry. I 'm tougher, you 
see. It wont hurt me." 

A sturdy satisfaction came with these words that 
almost made up for the disappointment about the 
camping out. 

Still, it was pretty hard to see the boys start with- 
out him. Ten days later they returned. The 
mosquitoes were very thick, they said, and they 
had n't caught so many fish as they expected. Joe 
Bryce had hurt his hand with a gun-lock, and Harry 
Blake was half sick with a cold. Still, they had 
had a pretty good time on the whole. Mr. Kane 
listened to this report with a dry twinkle in his eyes. 

"Two hundred dollars gone in giving twenty 
young fellows a 'pretty good' time," he said. 
" Well, all the fools are n't dead yet. You stick to 
what you 're about, Towser, my boy." 

And Towser did stick, not only then, but again 
and again as time went on, and first this scheme 
and then that was started for the amusement of the 
boys. Now it was an excursion to Boston ; next, the 
formation of an amateur rifle company ; after that 
a voyage to the fishing-banks. Every few months 
something was proposed, which fired Towser's im- 
agination, and made him want to join, but always 
his father held firm, and he had no share in the 
frolics. It seemed hard enough, but Mr. Kane was 
kind as well as strict ; he treated his son as if he 
were already a man, and argued with him from a 
man's point of view; so, in spite of an occasional 
outburst or grumble, Towser did not rebel, and his 
life and ideas gradually molded themselves to his 
father's wish. 

At sixteen, while most of the other boys were fit- 
ting for college, Towser left school and went into 
the great Perrin Iron Works, to learn the business 
of machine-making. He began at the foot of the 
ladder ; but, being quick-witted and steady, with a 
natural aptitude for mechanics, he climbed rapidly, 
and by the time he was twenty was promoted to a 
foremanship. Harry Blake came home from college 
soon after, having graduated with the dignity of a 
"second dispute," as a quizzical friend remarked, 
and settled at home, to "read law," he said, but 
in reality to practice the flute, make water-color 
sketches, and waste a good deal of time in desultory 
pursuits of various kinds. He was a sweet- 
tempered, gentlemanly fellow, not strong in health, 
and not at all fond of study ; and Tom, who over- 
topped him by a head, and with one muscular arm 
could manage him like a child, felt for him the 
tender deference which strength often pays to 
weakness. It was almost as if Harry had been a 
girl ; but Tom never thought of it in that light. 

So matters went on till Towser was twenty-one 
and beginning to hope for another rise in position, 
when suddenly a great black cloud swooped down 
on the Perrin Iron Works. I don't mean a real 
cloud, but a cloud of trouble. All the country felt 
its dark influence. Banks stopped payment, mer- 
chants failed, stocks lost their value, no one knew 
what or whom to trust, and the wheels of industry 

5 88 



everywhere were at a stand-still. Among the rest 
the Perrin Company was forced to suspend work 
and discharge its hands. Tom was a trusted 
fellow, and so much in the confidence of his em- 
ployers as to know for some time beforehand of the 
change that was coming. He staid to the end, to 
help wind up books and put matters in order, and 
he and Mr. Perrin were the last persons to walk out 
of the big door. 

" Good-bye, Tom," said Mr. Perrin, as he turned 
the key in the heavy lock, and stopped a moment 
to shake hands. " You 've done well by us, and if 
things are ever so that we can take another start, 
we '11 do well by you in our turn." 

They shook hands, and Tom walked away, with 
a month's wages in his pocket and no particular 
idea what to do next. Was he down-hearted ? 
Not at all. There was something somewhere that 
he could do ; that, he was sure of; and, although 
he looked grave, he whistled cheerily enough as he 
marched along. 

Suddenly turning a corner, he ran upon Harry 
Blake, walking in a listless, dejected way, which at 
once caught his attention. 

" Halloo — what 's up? " inquired Tom. 

" Have n't you heard?" replied Harry, in a mel- 
ancholy voice. " The Tiverton Bank has gone to 
smash, with most of our money in it !" 

" Your money ! " 

" My mother's. It 's the same thing exactly." 

" Was it much ? Is the bank gone for good ? " 

" Sure smash, they say, and seven-eighths of all 
we have." 

Tom gave a whistle of dismay. 

"Well, Harry, what next?" he demanded. 
" Have you thought of anything to do? " 

"No. What can I do ? " Harry's voice sounded 
hopeless enough. 

What could Harry do? Tom, who had never 
wasted a night's sleep over his own future, lay 
awake more than once debating this question. 
Hard times were hard times to him, as well as to 
everybody else, but he had a little money laid by, 
his habits were simple, and to pinch for a while 
cost him small suffering ; besides, he could turn his 
hand to almost anything — but poor Harry? One 
plan after another suggested itself and was pro- 
posed, but each in turn proved a failure. Harry 
lacked bodily strength for one position, for another 
he had not the requisite training, still another was 
unsuited to his taste, and a fourth sounded so 
"ungenteel" that his mother would not listen to 
it. It would break her heart, she said. Tom him- 

self got a temporary place in a locomotive-shop, 
which tided him over the crisis, and enabled him 
to lend a helping hand, not to Harry only, but to 
one or two other old comrades whose families had 
lost everything and were in extremity. But these 
small aids were not enough. Permanent situations 
were what were needed. At last Harry obtained a 
clerkship in a drug-store. He disliked it, and his 
mother hated it, but nothing better offered, and it 
is to his credit that he did the work well and dili- 
gently, and only relieved his mind by private 
grumblings to Towser in the evenings. 

" I '11 tell you what," said Tom one night, after 
patiently listening to one of these lamentations, 
" you boys used to think my father strict with me 
when we were at school together, but I 've come 
to the conclusion that he was a wise man. Where 
should I be now if I 'd grown up soft and easily 
hurt, like you ? Giving knocks and taking knocks 
— that 's what a business man's life is, and it 's a 
good thing to be toughened for it. I used to feel 
hard to my father about it too, sometimes, but I 
thank him heartily now," and he held out his 
brown, strong hand, and looked at it curiously 
and affectionately. Well he might. Those hands 
were keys to pick Fortune's locks with, — only I 'm 
afraid Towser's mind was hardly up to such a 

" You 're right," said Harry, after thinking a 
little, " and your father was right. You 're true 
grit, Towser, — up to any work that comes along, 
and sure to succeed, while I 'm as easily knocked 
down as a girl. I only wish I 'd had a wise father, 
and been raised tough, like you." 

Harry has repeated this wish a good many times 
in the years that have passed since then. Life has 
gone hardly with him, and business has always been 
distasteful, but he has kept on steadily, and his 
position has improved, thanks to Tom's advice and 
help. Tom himself is a rich man now. He was 
long since taken in as a partner by the Perrin 
Company, which re-opened its works the yeai after 
the panic, and is doing an immense business. He 
makes a sharp and energetic manager, but his 
open-handedness and open-heartedness grow with 
his growth, and prosperity only furnishes wider 
opportunity for a wise kindness to those who are 
less fortunate. His own good fortune he always 
ascribes to his father's energetic training, and 
Mr. Kane, who is an elderly man now, likes to 
nod his head and reply: " I told you so, my boy; 
I told you so. A habit of honest work is the best 
luck and the best fortune a man can have." 

i88i.] ENCHANTMENT- 589 

By Margaret Vandegrift. 

From my hammock I look toward the old willow-tree, 

And I feel like a bird, while I lie there swinging, 
And when nobody 's near to listen to me, 

I mock the cat-bird, whistling and singing. 
I had my fairy-book yesterday, 

Reading Tom Thumb and all the others, 
And I cried when he took the crowns away, 
And made that poor old Blunderbore slay 

The princesses, thinking he had the brothers. 

I lay there thinking, and singing a hymn, 

Because I felt sad, and the church-bell was ringing, 
Till the twilight made everything round me grow dim, 

A little wind blew, and the hammock was swinging. 
It was not the fence — they may say what they will, 

There was a fence there, with the top cut all pointed, 
But fences don't bow — they stand perfectly still, 
They do not have voices, all mournful and shrill. 

And they don't look like dolls, half alive and stiff-jointed. 

And fences don't sing — oh ! I heard them quite plainly, 

Their sad little music came over the street, 
They had all pointed crowns, though they looked so ungainly, 

And though they were n't pretty, their singing was sweet ! 
At first it all jumbled, but after a while 

I found out the words that each princess was wailing, 
And, though I was sorry, I could not but smile, 
For they sang, "Oh, who has nailed us up in this style? 

What, what is life worth, if one 's fast to a railing?" 

The cat-bird flew over to comfort them — he 

Sang better than they did — much louder and clearer. 

He sang to one poor little princess, "Just see! 
Don't look at the dusty road, see what is nearer, 

A wild rose is woven all over your crown, 

And a daisy is growing right here at your feet ; 




A velvety mullein has made you a gown." 

But the poor little princess sobbed out, with a frown : 

' ' Life, fast to a railing, can never be sweet ! " 

He tried the next princess: "Your highness perceives 
How this beautiful tree makes a bower above you ; 
You can listen all day to the whispering leaves, 
And they touch you so gently, they surely must love you. 
Then this blackberry-bush, with its wreath of white flowers — " 

But the princess broke in, with her sad little wailing : 
Oh, don't talk to me of your flowers and bowers, 
They are nothing to me" — here her tears fell in showers — 
" Less than nothing at all, while I'm fast to this railing!" 

The cat-bird, discouraged, came back to his nest, 

And the princesses still kept on sighing and weeping ; 
They must have said more, but I don't know the rest — ■ 

A great big black ant on my elbow was creeping, 
And he was the wizard, I really believe, 

Who had kept the poor princesses fast to the railing ; 
For when I had shaken him out of my sleeve, 
I looked over the way, and I could n't but grieve ; 

There was nothing at all but that old pointed paling. 

But to-day, when the school-room was dusty and hot, 

And I thought of my hammock, and wished I was in it, 
Till I missed in my spelling, because I forgot ; 

I felt like those princesses, just for a minute. 
Then I happened to think of that dear cat-bird's song, 

And I thought everybody is fast to some railing ; 
But the flowers and cat-birds and trees can't be wrong, 
The time will seem only more tiresome and long 

If we spend it complaining, and weeping, and wailing. 





By Ernest Ingersoll. 

Those readers of St. Nicholas who were so 
fortunate as to wander through the long aisles of 
the Centennial Exhibition in 1876, will perhaps 
remember the South African section. It sticks in 
my memory on account of two things: One, a 
small, heavy stone ring used by the savage Bush- 
men ; and the other, the ostrich-hatching oven. 

Everybody knows what an ostrich looks like, — a 
bird standing as high upon its legs as a pony, and 
holding a very small and stupid-looking head upon 
a neck as long as its legs. As though all the 
feather-material in the bird's make-up had been 
needed for the plumes, the whole head and neck 
are almost bare, being sprinkled with only a few 
poor bits of down and hair in place of feathers, 
while the legs are positively naked. Even the 
gaunt body is but imperfectly clothed, and the tail 
is ridiculously bobbed. But in two rows on the 
wings, and falling over the root of the tail, is a 
wealth of plumage that makes up for all these 
deficiencies, — masses of black, white, and gray 
feathers of large size and graceful curve, crowding 
one another in exquisitely soft drapery, all the 

on the desert ; and they were perhaps the first orna- 
ments in the hair of those old wild ancestors of 
ours who lived long before written history began. 

There are two sorts of ostriches, — some natural- 
ists say more, — both living in open country. One, 
the African "camel" ostrich, dwells in the Sahara 
deserts of the northern half of that continent, and 
in the wide dry plains at the south. The other, 
the "cassowary," belongs to the sterile pampas of 
Patagonia. Besides this, the sandy barrens of Aus- 
tralia have been, or are now, the homes of some- 
what similar birds, of gigantic stature. 

Ostriches are runners. They have no wings 
worth mention, and can no more fly than the 
jackals that, chase them. Hardly raising their 
wings, then, but only taking enormous strides with 
their long and muscular legs, they will outstrip any 
but a fast horse, and, unlike the swift antelopes, 
they have endurance enough to continue the race 
a long time. Very wary in some respects, while 
excessively stupid in others, ostriches can not be 
killed easily without stratagem, and the natives 
of the countries which they inhabit, therefore, prac- 


more beautiful because surprising in a creature 
so uncouth in every other feature. These graceful 
ornaments are the " ostrich plumes." 

From the very earliest times these great, soft, 
drooping feathers attracted the eyes of the men — or 
possibly the women first ! — who found them dropped 

tice various devices to entrap them, or to get near 
enough to shoot them. In one of these plans, the 
hunter stiffens out the skin of an ostrich so that 
its head stands up pretty naturally, and then, put- 
ting the skin over his head and shoulders, he ap- 
proaches a flock slowly, making them believe that 




it is simply another bird coming up, until he is 
within arrow-range. When but slightly wounded, 
however, the ostrich is a dangerous animal to get 
near to, since a blow with its foot has force enough 
to knock a man down or to break his leg. 

The Indians who inhabit the dreary, wind-swept, 
treeless and chilling plains of Patagonia, depend 
upon their ostrich for a large part of their food and 
clothing, and hunt it in a most exciting way. They 
own herds of tough and hardy ponies, that are 
swift of foot for a short distance, and very clever at 
hunting. They have also any number of fleet- 
footed mongrel dogs. When they discover one or 
two, or, rarely, a group of cassowaries, they en- 
deavor, by creeping along behind ridges, to get as 


near as possible to the game without alarming it. 
Meanwhile, they throw aside their fur capes, and 
detach from the saddle their bolas, ready for use. 
The bolas are their weapons, and consist of two or 
sometimes three balls of lead — frequently, simply 
stones — covered with leather, and united by thongs 
about four feet long. 

When the Indian finds he can steal up no nearer 
to the ostrich, he spurs his horse and gives open 
chase. Grasping the thong of his bolas, he swings 
them rapidly around his head, and, as he comes 
close to his game, lets them fly. They strike the 
bird, twine around its body and legs, and throw 
it down. Before it can get free, the Indian has 
ridden up, and dispatched it with a knife or club. 
It requires great skill to hurl the bolas well ; but 
when, mounted upon a wild Pampas-pony, you are 
racing over the breezy plains after the swift-fleeing 
bird and the close-pursuing hounds, you feel that 
nothing can stir the blood into keener action or can 
better be called sport. 

The nests of ostriches vary greatly, though 
always built on the ground. Generally, 
a high, dry spot is selected, where there 
is plenty of herbage, which may be 
heaped into a rim around a depression 
scratched out by the feet. But some 
birds will choose a most ill-judged site, 
where the eggs may be drowned in a 
pool during the first rain-storm. Again 
for some nests you must search long and 
closely, while others are placed in the 
most open positions. As a rule, it Is 
the male that builds the nest, and ha 
also sits the longest, and always at 
night, the female taking her turn dur- 
ing the day-time. In the care of the 
eggs the birds differ greatly, some being 
extremely anxious lest their treasures 
shall suffer exposure, or be interfered 
with, while others seem entirely careless 
about what may happen. So, too, one 
ostrich will defend his nest or young 
family to the last extremity of his 
strength, while another will desert his 
hHH borne or brood before an enemy in the 
most cowardly manner. Remembering 
these individual differences, one of the 
farmers at the Cape gave as his reason 
for enjoying the cultivation of the birds, 
that he never could make out their 
characters, and so was constantly amused 
by some novelty in their behavior. 

The dozen or two eggs that are laid 
by the ostrich are precisely like turkeys' 
eggs in color, but of greater size. One 
would hold three pints of water or mil- 
let, and when fresh, they are good to eat. But 
to the Indian or the Bushman, these eggs are 
chiefly valuable for their thick shells, out of 
which he makes his cups and pitchers and water- 
jars. In South Africa, particularly, water is ex- 
tremely scarce and precious. The wild natives, 
therefore, empty the eggs through small holes, and 




fill the shells with water, corking up the orifices, day's journey in the sun, they bury the corked 

When they are going on a journey, they make net- shells in the ground for an hour or two. 

bags out of twine, formed from bark or rushes, and For the first three or four days after coming out 


inclose each shell in a bag. Thus inclosed and of the shell, we are told, the chicks eat nothing 
protected in the netting, the stout egg-shells can whatever, "but sit on their haunches and imbibe 
be tied together and safely carried over a man's their first impressions of nature." It would be a 


shoulder, or on the backs of oxen ; and, in these 
ways, ostrich-egg shells supply drinking-water for 
long trips across the desert. To cool it, after a 
Vol. VIII.— 38. 

curious thing to know just how the world looks to a 
baby ostrich ; the first things eaten are not food, 
but pebbles, sand, and bits of the shells from which 




the birds have recently been hatched. Later, they 
take mouthfuls of grass, then begin to snatch up 
insects and lizards, and meanwhile are becoming 
expert in the art of suddenly disappearing at a 
warning cry from the watchful parent. "This 
they do by diving under a bush where possible, 
and lying on the ground with their bodies as flat 
as possible, and their necks stretched out upon 
the earth. Here they lie motionless as a lump 
of clay — and not unlike it in appearance, even to 
the practiced 'eye — until the danger is over." Such 
native wisdom is early supplemented in their infant 
brains, however, by the farmer's lessons. 

Sometimes a stout young ostrich serves as sad- 
dle-horse for a rider as adventurous as a Bushboy. 
It is strong and fleet enough for the purpose, 
but too stupid to be guided satisfactorily, or to be 
trusted not to run away and perhaps spill the 
rider. In the Zoological Gardens of London,* chil- 
dren are sometimes allowed to ride upon ostriches, 
in the care of an attendant. They are said by 
the people of the Cape of Good Hope to be very 
gentle and funny as pets, though full of mischief. 

But I am forgetting the promise of my title — to 
describe ostrich-farming. 

The ostrich-farm is a South African idea, and 
has become a great industry at the Cape colony. 
It is said to have been founded by accident. 
Formerly the supplying of plumes was almost wholly 
in the hands of the Arab traders, who traveled 
throughout the interior of Africa, and English 
merchants at the Cape had little hold upon it, 
though prices were high and great profits possi- 
ble. The Arab dealers would bring to the coast 
from the interior, also, many ostriches' eggs to sell 
in the villages as food, or to send to Europe as 
ornaments, often with odd, elaborate carvings upon 
the shells. The story goes that one day, about 
twenty-five years ago, an Algerian trader, having 
a heavier cargo than he could carry, left a few 
eggs in a cupboard adjoining a bakery in the vil- 
lage. Two months afterward, he was astonished 
to find there a chick for every egg he had left. Of 
course, the young ostriches were dead, but it was 
evident that they had been artificially hatched 
by the warmth from the neighboring fire. A 
French army officer, hearing this fact, set himself 
to learn whether he could regularly hatch out 
the eggs in an artificial oven or " incubator." and 
afterward raise the young birds until they should 
grow of a size to bear salable feathers ; and at last 
he succeeded. 

It was hardly to be expected that the slow- 
going people of Algiers should turn the discovery 
to profit at once, but a wide-awake Englishman 
heard of it and immediately tried the experiment 
in South Africa, for there were plenty of ostrich- 

eggs to be had there, and he knew that success 
would bring him plenty of money. The experiment 
led to many improvements upon the first one, 
until now ostrich-farming is a well-settled business; 
and of the several millions of dollars' worth of 
plumes exported from Africa every year, the Cape 
colony sends over three-quarters, wholly of artificial 
production, and procured from about half a million 
of tame birds. 

The ostrich-farmer begins by having an immense 
grassy range inclosed by fences, which need be 
neither high nor stout. Then he buys a few birds 
from another farmer, for which he pays from one 
hundred to five hundred dollars apiece, builds his 
hatching-machine, or incubator, and is ready. 

Incubators are of various patterns, but all are 
intended to serve the same purpose, namely, to 
imitate just as closely as possible the natural 
warmth of the bird when sitting. To accomplish 
this, a large chest or bureau is built, in which vats 
of hot water are arranged across the whole breadth. 
Between these vats are sets of sliding boxes, or 
drawers. In these are laid the eggs, wrapped in 
flannel, and then, by a system of screws, the 
drawers are placed close up under the hot-water 
vats. It sounds easy, but six weeks are required 
to hatch out the chicks, and we are told that 
"during all this period, three times each day, the 
farmer must turn the eggs, so as to present first 
one side and then another to the life-bringing 
warmth. He must follow nature as closely as pos- 
sible, for the degrees of heat and moisture, and the 
like, must be just right, or otherwise mischief is 
done. He must, moreover, with delicate care, 
when the proper moment comes, assist the young 
chick to free itself from the shell, and then he 
must tenderly nurse the bird during its early help- 
less days." 

The young ostriches, after three or four days, 
eat all sorts of green food, and are regularly fed 
and cared for by a servant — thirty or forty young- 
sters keeping one man busy. They are tame and 
gentle enough, and when they get fairly grown are 
so hardy that no more anxiety is felt about their 
health, and they are turned out upon the great 
ranch to shift for themselves, excepting in times of 
unusual drought, when they must be fed._JThey 
eat nearly everything edible, and comical stories 
are told of their appetite and powers of digestion. 

I read the other day that an ostrich at the Gar- 
den of Plants, Paris, having accidentally strangled 
itself, the stomach was opened and was found to 
contain fifteen pebbles, seven nails, a scarf-pin, an 
envelope, a franc piece and thirteen sous in copper 
money, two keys, a piece of a pocket-handkerchief 
with the letter "R" embroidered on it, a medal 
of Leo XIII., and a cross of the Legion of Honor. 

' And in the Bois de Boulogne, Paris ; see St. Nicholas for July, 1874. 




The poor birds at the Cape do not get such luxu- 
rious fare, but must confine themselves to pebbles, 
of which, says a recent writer, as many as nine 
hundred have been found in a single bird's gizzard ! 
These hard substances are swallowed to assist the 
crushing of the food and so make the process of 
digestion easier. Our domestic fowls follow the 
same plan on a small scale. 

On the wide range of a Cape farm, the birds can 
build nests and lay eggs as though in a wild state, 
and in the spring it is a part of the farm-work to 
find these eggs and take them to be artificially 
hatched. This is not only difficult, but sometimes 
perilous ; for the ostrich, although usually timid 
and inoffensive, will now and then defend his nest 
with great courage, and so becomes a dangerous 
enemy for an unarmed and perhaps unmounted 
man. Many a negro has been killed by a blow 
in the chest or face from the sharp-clawed foot. 

The whole object of ostrich-culture being the 
plumes, the pluckings of the birds are the most 
important events of the year; these occur twice. 
Sometimes a bird will be ready when only a year 
old, but generally another six months are added 
to its age before the first plucking. The operation 
is performed in two ways. One is a rough-and- 
tumble method, requiring the help of six men, but 
this plan is less often followed than in former years, 
because, in the violent struggles with the birds, 
some injury frequently happens to the pluckers, 
and sometimes a leg of an ostrich is broken, in 

which case the bird has to be killed, however 
valuable it may be. 

On large farms, where there are plenty of birds, 
a more humane plan is pursued. Mounted men 
collect a herd of the birds to be plucked, and partly 
drive, partly entice, them into a small yard or 
"corral," by a liberal supply of Indian corn, called 
" mealies " in South Africa. The corral, or pen, 
has a movable side, and when it is full " this side is 
run in, and the birds are crowded so close together 
that they can not spread their wings nor kick. 
The men then go among them and pluck or cut the 
feathers. The operation seems to have little pain 
for the birds, and the feathers begin to grow again 
at once." There seems to be no limit to the time 
when feathers will be reproduced, birds eighteen or 
twenty years old still yielding plentifully. A good 
pair of breeding ostriches is now worth a thousand 
dollars, and feathers sell for three hundred and 
fifty dollars a pound, numbering from seventy-five 
to one hundred plumes, sorted according to color, 
those from the female being usually lightest. The 
feathers of the Patagonian ostrich are far inferior, 
and do not bring anything like so high a price. 

And all the skill and fatigue of the hunter, all 
the risk, trouble, painstaking, patient care, and 
close observation of the ostrich-farmer, are given 
in order that the ladies of America and Europe 
may add the handsome flowing plumes of this 
ungainly bird to the already vast and varied store 
of ornaments for bonnets and dresses. 






By Rossiter Johnson. 

Chapter XIII. 


The impulse which had sent Ned and me head- 
long toward Jimmy's home as soon as we heard 
of the accident, found itself exhausted when we 
reached the gate. As if by concert, we both came 
to a dead halt. 

"What shall we do?" said Ned. " If Jimmy 
were alive we could whistle and call him out ; or we 
might even go and knock at the door. But I don't 
know how to go into a house where somebody 's 
dead. I wish we had gone first and asked Jack-in- 
the-Box what was the right way to do." 

" Perhaps Jimmy is n't dead," said I. " There 's 
no black crape on the door." 

■'' Copyright, 1S80, by Rossiter 

"That does n't prove it," said Ned; "for 
Jimmy's folks might not have any crape in the 

While we were still debating what was proper 
to be done, the front door opened, and Jackjin-the- 
Box came out. 

" You 're the very boy — I mean man — I wanted 
to see," said Ned, running up to him, and speaking 
in a whisper. 

"That's fortunate," said Jack. "What can I 
do for you ? " 

"Why, you see," said Ned, " we came right 
over here as soon as we heard about Jimmy. But 
we don't know the right way to go into a house 
where anybody 's dead. We never did it before." 

"Jimmy is n't dead," said Jack. 

Ned gave a great bound. I suppose that perhaps 

Johnson. All rights reserved. 



he felt as if he had been suddenly acquitted of a 
charge of murder. 

" Oh, Jack, how lovely ! " said he, and threw his 
arms around Jack's neck. "But I suppose he 
must be hurt, though ? " 

" Yes," said Jack, " he 's pretty badly hurt." , 

" Still, if he 's alive, we can do something for 
him," said Ned. 

" Oh ! certainly," said Jack. " A great deal can 
be done for him — a great deal has been done 
already. But I think you 'd better not go in to see 
him just yet. Wait a few days, until he has 
become stronger," and Jack hurried away. 

We still lingered before the house, and presently 
a little girl came out, eyed us curiously, and then 
went to swinging on the chain which supported the 
weight that kept the gate shut. " You don't seem 
to go along," said she, after a while. 

We made no answer. 

"Did you want to know about my brother 
Jimmy ? " said she, after another pause. 

" Yes," said I, " we 'd be glad to hear all about 

"Well, I'll tell you all about it," said she. 
"Jimmy 's hurt very bad — because he was runned 
over by a wagon — because he got in the way — 
because he did n't see it — because a gentleman 
wanted a paper on the other side of the street — 
because Jimmy was selling them — because he 
wanted to get money — because he had to pay a 
great lot of it to a naughty, ugly boy that lives 
over that way somewhere — because he just touched 
one of that boy's old things, and it fell right to 
pieces. And he said Jimmy 'd got to pay money 
for it, and should n't come in his house any more. 
And Jimmy was saving all his money to pay ; and 
he 's got two dollars and a half already from the 
papers, besides a dollar that Isaac Holman gave 
him to write a poem for him. And that makes 
almost five dollars, I guess." 

"Let's go home," said Ned. 

But I lingered to ask one question of the talk- 
ative little maiden. 

"What poem did Jimmy write for Isaac 
Holman ? " 

" I don't know," she answered. " It 's the only 
poem Jimmy ever would n't read to me. He said 
it was very particular, and he must n't let any- 
body see it." 

A literary light dawned in upon me, as we 
walked away. 

Ned was silent for a long time. At last he spoke. 

" I feel sick," said he. 

"What 's the matter?" said I. 

" The matter is," said he, "that everybody seems 
to be trying to make out that it 's all my fault that 
Jimmy got hurt." 

" Patsy Rafferty and Jimmy's sister are not 
everybody," said I. 

"Of course not; but they only talk what they 
hear other people say." 

" I suppose you were a little to blame," said I. 

" Perhaps I was," said Ned, " and I wish I could 
do something for him. I 'd get any amount of 
money from Aunt Mercy — if money would do him 
any good." 

As our way home led us past Jack's box, I sug- 
gested that we stop and consult him about it. 

" Jack," said Ned, " please tell us exactly how it 
is about Jimmy." 

"The poor boy is fearfully hurt," said Jack. 
" One leg is broken, and the other badly bruised." 

"Do you know of anything we can do for him ? " 

"What do you think of doing?" said Jack. 

" If money was wanted," said Ned, and the tears 
started in his eyes, " I could get him any amount." 

Jack drummed with his fingers on the arm of 
his chair, and said nothing for some moments. 
Then he spoke slowly: " I doubt if the family 
would accept a gift of money from any source." 

"Couldn't I, at least, pay the doctor's bill?" 

" You might," said Jack. 

" Yes, of course," said Ned ; " I can go to the 
doctor privately, and tell him not to charge them 
a cent, and we '11 pay him. That 's the way to do 
it. What doctor do they have ? " 

"Dr. Grill." 

"Dr. Grill!" Ned repeated in astonishment. 
"Why, Dr. Grill does n't know anything at all. 
Father says somebody said if a sick man was made 
of glass, and had a Drummond light in his 
stomach, Dr. Grill could n't see what ailed him." 

" We don't need a Drummond light to see what 
ails Jimmy," said Jack, quietly. 

"Still," said Ned, " he ought to have a good 
doctor. Can't you tell them to get Dr. Campbell ? 
Father says he has tied the croaking artery nine- 
teen times. Dr. Campbell is the man for my 
money ! But how queer it must feel to have nine- 
teen hard knots tied in your croaking artery. Do 
you think Jimmy's croaking artery will have to be 
tied up, Jack? If it has, I tell you what, Dr. 
Campbell 's the man to do it." 

Jack laughed immoderately. But Ned was not 
the only person who ever made himself ridiculous 
by recommending a physician too enthusiastically. 

" I don't see what you 're laughing at," said he. 
" It seems to me It 's a pretty serious business." 

" I was only laughing at a harmless little mis- 
take of yours," said Jack. " When you said 'the 
croaking artery,' I presume you meant the carotid 
artery — this one here in the side of the neck." 

" If that 's the right name of it, that 's what I 
meant," said Ned. 




" And when your father said Dr. Campbell had 
tied it nineteen times," continued Jack, "he 
did n't mean that he had tied nineteen hard knots 
in one person's, but that he had had occasion to tie 
the artery in nineteen different persons." 

" And will Jimmy's have to be tied ?" said Ned. 

"As the carotid artery is in the neck, and Jim- 
my's injuries are all in his legs, I should say not," 
said Jack. 

" Of course not; I might have thought of that," 
said Ned. "But you see, Jack, I don't know 
much about doctor-things anyway, and to-day I 
don't know what I do know, for everybody 's been 
saying I 'm to blame for Jimmy's hurt, and mak- 
ing me feel like a murderer. I '11 do whatever you 
say, Jack. If you say run for Dr. Campbell, I '11 
go right away." 

"I think Dr. Grill will do everything that 
ought to be done," said Jack. " There 's nothing 
you can do now, but perhaps we can think of 
something when Jimmy begins to get well." 

"Then you think he will get well?" said Ned. 

" I hope he will," said Jack. 

" I tell you what it is," said Ned, as we con- 
tinued our walk toward home, "that Jack-in-the- 
Box is the nicest fellow that ever waved a flag. 
Sometimes I think he knows more than Father 

A day or two later, Ned went to see his aunt, 
and I went with him. 

- "Aunt Mercy," said he, "one of the best boys 
in this town has got badly hurt — run over down by 
the depot — and his folks are so poor I don't see 
what they 're going to do." 

"Yes, I heard about it," said Aunt Mercy. "It 
was that brother of yours who was to blame." 

" Oh no, Aunty, Fay had nothing to do with it," 
said Ned. 

"Don't tell me, child; I know all about it. Miss 
Pinkham came to call on me, and told me the whole 
story. She said the poor little fellow tipped over 
a type or something, and one of those Rogers boys 
drove him away, and made him go and sell papers 
under the wheels of the cars and omnibuses, to get 
money to pay for it. Of course I knew which one 
it was, but I did not say anything, I felt so mortified 
for the family." 

It is difficult to say what answer Ned ought to 
have made to this. To try to convince his aunt that 
Miss Pinkham's version of the story was incorrect, 
would have been hopeless ; to plead guilty to the 
indictment as it stood, would have been unjust to 
himself ; to leave matters as they were, seemed 
unjust to his brother. And above all was the 
consideration that if he should vex his aunt he 
would probably lose the whole object of his visit — 
getting help for Jimmy. He remained silent. 

" What were you going to say, Edmund Burton, 
about poor Jimmy Redmond ?" said his aunt. 

"I was going to say," Ned answered, "that I 
wished I could help him a little by paying his 
doctor's bill, and not let him know anything 
about it." 

"You lovely, kind boy!" exclaimed Aunt 
Mercy. "As soon as you find out what the 
doctor's bill is, come to me, and I '11 furnish you 
the money." 

Jimmy had the best of care ; Mrs. Rogers did 
a great deal, in a quiet, almost unnoticeable way, 
to add to his comforts ; and, after a while, it was 
announced that he might receive short visits from 
the boys. 

Phaeton, Ned, and I were his first visitors. We 
found him still lying in bed, in a little room 
where the sunbeams poured in at a south window, 
but not till they had been broken into all sorts of 
shapes by the foliage of a wistaria, the shadows 
of which moved with every breeze to and fro across 
a breadth of rag carpet. 

The walls were ornamented with a dozen or 
twenty pictures — some of them out of old books and 
papers, and some drawn and painted in water-colors 
by Jimmy himself — none of them framed. The 
water-colors were mainly illustrations of his own 
poems. I am not able to say whether they pos- 
sessed artistic merit, for I was a boy at the time, 
and of course a boy, who only knows what pleases 
him, cannot be expected to know what is artistic and 
ought to please him. But some of them appeared 
to me very wonderful, especially one that illus- 
trated " The Unlucky Fishermen." It was at the 
point where Joe and Isaac were trying to catch 
a ride behind an omnibus. Not only did the heroes 
themselves appear completely tired out by their 
long day of fruitless fishing, but the dog looked 
tired, the 'bus horses were evidently tired, the driver 
was tired, the boy who called out " Whip behind ! " 
was tired — even the 'bus itself had a tired look ; 
and this general air of weariness produced a won- 
derful unity of effect. 

Jimmy looked so pale and ill, as he lay there, 
that we were all startled, and Ned seemed actually 
frightened. He lost control of himself, and broke 
out passionately : 

"Oh, Jimmy, dear Jimmy, you mustn't die! 
We can't have you die ! We '11 get all the doc- 
tors in the city, and buy you everything you need, 
only don't die ! " 

Here he thrust his hand into his pocket, and 
brought out two silver dollars. 

"Take them, Jimmy, take them!" said he, 
"just to please me. And we don't care anything 
about the type you pied. I 'd rather pi half 
the type in the office than see your leg broken. 




We can't any of us spare you. Live, Jimmy, live! 
and you may be proof-reader in our office, — we 
need one dreadfully, Jack-in-the-Box says so, — 
and you know pretty nearly everything, and can 
soon learn the rest, and we '11 get you the green 
shade for your eyes, and you 're awful round-sho — 
that is — I mean — in fact, I think you 're the very 
man for it. And you can grow up with the busi- 
ness, and always have a good place. And then, 
Jimmy, if you want to use your spare time in 
setting up your poems, you may, and change them 
just as much as you want to, and we wont charge 
you a cent for the use of the type." 

Ned certainly meant this for a generous offer, 
and Jimmy seemed to consider it so ; but if he 
could have taken counsel of some of the sad-faced 
men who have spent their lives in reading proof, I 
think, perhaps, he would have preferred to die, 
rather than " to always have the good place " that 
his repentant friend had proposed for him. 

Ned had scarcely finished his apostrophe, when 
Jimmy's little sister brought in a beautiful bouquet, 
sent by Miss Glidden to brighten up the sick boy's 

Looking around, we saw that other friends had 
been equally thoughtful. Isaac Holman had sent 
a basket of fruit ; Monkey Roe, a comic almanac, 
three or four years old, but just as funny ; Jack-in- 
the-Box, a bottle of cordial; and Patsy Rafferty, a 
small bag of marbles. 

"How do you amuse yourself, Jimmy?" said 

"I don't have much amusement," answered 
Jimmy; "but still I can write a little." 

"Poetry?" said Phaeton. 

"Oh, yes," said Jimmy; "I write very little 
except poetry. There 's prose enough in the 
world already." 

"Perhaps," said Phaeton, after a short pause, 
" if you feel strong enough, you '11 read us your 
latest poem." 

"Yes, if you'd like to hear it," said Jimmy. 
"Please pull out a box that you'll see under the 
head of my bed here." 

Phaeton thrust his arm under, and pulled out a 
pine box, which was fastened with a small brass 

" The key is under the Dying Hound," said 

Looking around the walls, we saw that one of 
Jimmy's pictures represented a large dog dying, 
and a little boy and girl weeping over it. Whether 
the picture was intended to illustrate the death of 
Gelert, or of some other heroic brute, I do not 
know. The corner of this picture being lifted, 
disclosed a small key, hung over the head of a 
carpet-tack, driven into the wall. 

When the box was opened, we saw that it was 
nearly full of manuscripts. 

" The last one," said Jimmy, who could not turn 
from his one position on the bed, "is written on 
blue paper, with a piece torn off from the upper 
right-hand corner." 

Phaeton soon found it, and handed it to Jimmy. 

"It is called an 'Ode to a Horseshoe' — that 
one over the door," said Jimmy. "I found it in 
the road the day before I was hurt, and brought 
it right home, and put it up there." 

"Then it has n't brought you much good luck, 
so far, has it?" said Phaeton. 

" I don't know about that," said Jimmy. " It 's 
true I was hurt the very next day ; but something 
seems to have brought me a great many good 

"Oh! you always had those, horseshoe or no 
horseshoe," said Ned. 

"I'm glad if I did," said Jimmy; "though I 
never suspected it. But now I should like to read 
you the poem, and get your opinions on it ; because 
it's in a different vein from most of my others." 
And then Jimmy read us his verses : 

Ode to a Horseshoe. 

Thou relic of departed horse ! 

Thou harbinger of luck to man ! 
When things seem growing worse and worse, 

How good to find thee in the van ! 

A hundred thousand miles, I ween, 
You 've traveled on the flying heel — 

Ey country' roads, where fields were green, 
O'er pavements, with the rattling wheel. 

Your toe-calk, in that elder day, 

Was sharper than a serpent's tooth; 
But now it 's almost worn away ; 

The blacksmith should renew its youth. 

Bright is the side was next the ground, 
And dark the side was next the hoof; 

'T is thus true metal 's only found 

Where hard knocks put it to the proof. 

For aught I know, you may have done 
Your mile in two nineteen or twenty ; 

Or, on a dray-horse, never run, 

But walked and walked, and pulled a plenty. 

At last your journeys all are o'er, 

Whether of labor or of pleasure, 
And there you hang above my door, 

To bring me health and strength and treasure. 

When the reading was finished we all remained 
silent, until Jimmy spoke. 

" I should like to have you give me your opinions 
about it," said he. " Don't be afraid to criticise it. 
Of course, there must be faults in it." 

"That's an awful good moral about the hard' 
knocks," said I. 

"Yes," said Phaeton, "it might be drawn from 
Jimmy's own experience. And, as he says, the 
poem does seem to be in a new vein. I noticed a 




good many words that were different from any in 
his other pieces." 

"That," said Jimmy, "is because 1 Ye been 
studying some of the older poets lately. Jack-in- 
the-Box lent me Shakespeare, and I got three or 
four others from the school library. Probably they 
have had an effect on my style." 

Ned walked to the door, and, standing tiptoe, 
looked intently at the horseshoe. 

"One thing is certain," said he, "that passage 
about the toe-calk is perfectly true to nature. The 

because it 's such a good poem, and I enjoyed it ' 
so much ; but it seems to me you 've strained the 
truth a little where you say ' a hundred thousand 
miles. ' " 

" How so?" said Jimmy. 

"Calculate it for yourself," said Ned. "No 
horse is likely to travel more than about fifty miles 
a day. And if he did that every day, he 'd go 
three hundred miles in a week. At that rate, it 
would take him more than six years to travel a 
hundred thousand miles. But no shoe lasts a horse 


toe-calk is nearly worn away, and the heel-calks 
are almost as bad." 

"It's a good poem," said I. "I don't see how 
you could make it any better." 

"Nor I," said Phaeton. "It tells the whole 

" I 'm glad you like it," said Jimmy. "I felt a 
little uncertain about dipping into the lyric strain." 

" Yes," said Ned ; " there 's just one spot where 
it shows the strain, and I don't see another thing 
wrong about it." 

"What 's that ? " said Jimmy, 

"Perhaps we 'd better not talk about it till you 
get well," said Ned. 

"Oh, never mind that," said Jimmy. "I don't 
need my legs to write poetry with, or to criticise it, 

"Well," said Ned, " I hate to find fault with it, 

six years — nor one year, even. So, you see, this 
could n't have traveled a hundred thousand miles. 
That 's why I say the lyric strain is strained a little 
too much." 

"I see," said Jimmy. "You are undoubtedly 
right. I shall have to soften it down to a dozen 
thousand, or something like that." 

"Yes," said Ned; "soften it down. When 
that 's done the poem will be perfect." 

At this point, Phaeton said he thought we had 
staid as long as we ought to, and should be going. 

" I wish, Jimmy," said Ned, " you 'd let me take 
this poem and read it to Jack-in-the-Box. I know 
he would enjoy it." 

"I've no objection," said Jimmy. "And if 
you can find time some day to print it for me, 
here 's two dollars to pay for the job," and he 
thrust Ned's money back into his hand. 



"All right!" said Ned, as he saw that Jimmy 
would not accept the money, and yet did not want 
to refuse it rudely. "We'll try to make a hand- 
some job of it. Perhaps some day it will be 
printed on white satin, and hung up in the Em- 
peror of China's palace, like — whose poem was it 
Father told about, the other day, Fay?" 

" Derzhavin's," said Phaeton. 

" Yes, Derzhavin's, whoever he was ! " said Ned. 
" And this one of Jimmy's ought to have a horse- 
shoe embroidered in gold thread on the corner of 
the satin. But those funny ladies with slant eyes 
and little club feet will have to do that. I suppose 
they have n't much else to keep them busy, as 
they 're not able to do any housework. It might 
have a small gold horseshoe on each of the four 
corners, or it might have one big horseshoe sur- 
rounding the poem. Which would you like best, 

"I've no choice; either would suit me," said 
the poet. 

" Good-bye, Jimmy ! " 

" Good-bye, boys ! " 

Chapter XIV. 


Every day some one of us called to see Jimmy. 
He was well taken care of, and got along nicely. 
Jack-in-the-Box lent him books, and each day a 
fresh bouquet was sent in by Miss Glidden. 

One day Monkey Roe called on him. 

" Jimmy," said he, " you know all about poetry, 
I suppose." 

" I know something about it," said Jimmy. " I 
have written a good deal. " 

" And are you well enough yet to do an odd job 
in it?" 

"Oh, yes," said Jimmy. "A fellow does n't 
have to be very well to write poetry." 

" It is n't exactly writing poetry that I want 
done," said Monkey. "It's a very odd job, in- 
deed. You might call it repairing poetry. Do 
poets ever repair poetry, as well as make it new ? " 

"I don't know," said Jimmy. "I should think 
it might be done in some cases." 

"Well, now," said Monkey, "I have a broken 
poem. Some part of every line is gone. But the 
rhymes are all there, and many of the other words, 
and most of the beginnings of the lines. I thought 
a poet would know how to fill up all the blank 
spaces, and make it just as it was when it was 
whole. " 

"I don't know," said Jimmy, doubtfully. "It 
might be possible to do it, and it might not. I '11 
do what I can for you. Let me see it, if you have 
it with you." 

Monkey pulled out of his pocket the mutilated 
poem of Holman's, which Ned had pieced together, 
and, after smoothing it out, handed it to Jimmy. 

As Jimmy looked it over, he turned every color 
which it is possible for an unhappy human coun- 
tenance to assume, and then gave a deep groan. 

" Where did you get this, Monkey ? " said he. 

"Found it," said Monkey. 

"Found it — impossible !" said Jimmy. 

"Upon my word I did find it, and just in the 
shape you see it now. But what of it ? " 

" Where did you find it?" said Jimmy. 

" In Rogers's printing-office, kicking around on 
the floor. It seemed to be thrown away as waste 
paper ; so I thought there was no harm in taking 
it. And when I read it, it looked to me like a 
curious sort of puzzle, which I thought would 
interest you. But you seem to take it very 
seriously. " 

"It's a serious matter," said Jimmy. 

" No harm done, I hope," said Monkey. 

"There may be," said Jimmy. "I can't tell. 
Some things about it I can't understand. I must 
ask you to let me keep this." 

"If it's so very important," said Monkey, "it 
ought to be taken back to Phaeton Rogers, as it 
was in his office that I found it. " 

" No," said Jimmy; "it does n't belong to him." 

"Then you know something about it?" said 

"Yes, Monkey," said Jimmy, " I do know con- 
siderable about it. But it is a confidential matter 
entirely, and I shall have to insist on keeping this." 

"All right!" said Monkey. "I'll take your 
word for it." 

A few days after this, we were visiting Jack in 
his box, when, as he was turning over the leaves of 
his scrap-book to find something he wanted to 
show us, Phaeton exclaimed : 

" What 's that I saw ? " and, turning back a leaf 
or two, pointed to an exact fac-simile of the 
mutilated poem. It had evidently been made by 
laying a sheet of oiled paper over the original, and 
tracing the letters with a pencil. 

" Oh, that," said Jack, " is something that Mon- 
key Roe brought here. He said it was a literary 
puzzle, and wanted me to see if I could restore the 
lines. I 've been so busy I have n't tried it yet." 

Phaeton at once wrote a note to Monkey, asking 
him to bring back the original ; whereupon Monkey 
called at the office and explained why he could 
not return it. 

"All right! I'll see Jimmy about it myself," 
said Phaeton. " But have you made any other 
tracings of it besides the one Jack-in-the-Box 
has ? " 

" Only two others," said Monkey. 




" Where are they?" 

" One I have at home." 

"And the other?" 

" I sent it to Miss Glidden, with a note saying 
that, as I had heard she wrote poetry sometimes, 
I thought she might be interested in this poetical 

"Good gracious ! " said Phaeton. " There 's no 
use in trying to dip up that spilled milk." 

In those days there was an excitement and 
pleasure enjoyed by many boys, which was denied 
to Phaeton, Ned, and me. This was the privilege 
of running to fires. Nearly all large fires occurred 
in the night, and Mr. Rogers would not permit 
his boys to turn out from their warm beds and run 
at breathless speed to the other side of the town 
to see a building burned. So they had to lie still 
and possess their souls in impatience while they 
heard the clanging of the bells and the rattling 
of the engine, and perhaps saw through their 
window the bright reflection on the midnight sky. 
There was no need for my parents to forbid me, 
since none of these things ever woke me. 

Running to fires, at least in cities, is now a thing 
of the past. The alarm is communicated quietly 
by telegraph to the various engine-houses, a team 
is instantly harnessed to the engine, and with two 
or three men it is driven to the fire, which is often 
extinguished without the inhabitants of the next 
street knowing that there has been a fire at all. 

At the time of this story, the steam fire-engine 
had not been invented, and there were no paid 
fire departments. The hand-engine had a long 
pole on each side, called a brake, fastened to a 
frame that worked up and down like a pump-han- 
dle. When the brake on one side was down, that 
on the other was up. The brakes were long enough 
for nearly twenty men to stand in a row on each 
side and work them. No horses were used, but 
there was a long double rope, called a drag-rope, 
by which the men themselves drew the engine 
from its house to the fire. They always ran at 
full speed, and the two men who held the tongue, 
like the tongue of a wagon, had to be almost as 
strong as horses, to control and guide it as it went 
bumping over the pavement. 

Each engine had a number and a name, and 
there was an organized company, of from forty 
to seventy men, who had it in charge, managed it 
at fires, drew it out on parade-days, took pride in 
it, and bragged about it. 

The partiality of the firemen for their own engine 
and company was as nothing in comparison with 
that of the boys. Every boy in town had a violent 
affection for some one company, to the exclusion of 
all others. It might be because his father or his 

cousin belonged to that company, or because he 
thought it had the handsomest uniform (for no 
two companies were uniformed alike), or because 
it was first on the ground when his uncle's store 
was on fire, or because he thought it was the com- 
pany destined to "wash" all others. Sometimes 
there would be no discoverable reason for his 
choice ; yet the boy would be just as strong in his 
partisanship, and often his highest ambition would 
be to be able to run with the hose-cart of his favor- 
ite company. The hose was carried wound on a 
reel, that ran on two light wheels, and was man- 
aged by six boys, fifteen or sixteen years of age. 

When a fire broke out, the bells of all the 
churches were rung ; first slowly, striking one, two, 
three, four, etc., according to which district of the 
town the fire was in, and then clanging away with 
rapid strokes. Thus the whole town was alarmed, 
and a great many people besides the firemen ran to 
every fire. Firemen jumped from their beds at the 
first tap of a bell ; or, if it was in the day-time, 
threw down their tools, left their work, and ran. 

There was intense rivalry as to which engine 
should get first to the fire, and which should pour 
the most effective stream of water upon it. But 
the highest pitch of excitement was reached when 
there was an opportunity to " wash." If the fire 
was too far from the water-supply to be reached 
through the hose of a single engine, one engine 
would be stationed at the side of the river or canal, 
or wherever the water was taken from, to pump it 
up and send it as far as it could through its hose, 
there discharging into the box of another engine, 
which, in turn, forced it another distance, through 
its own hose. If the first engine could send the 
water along faster than the second could dispose of 
it, the result would be that in a few minutes the box 
of the second would be overflowed, and she was 
then said to be "washed," which was a great tri- 
umph for the company that had washed her. 

This sort of rivalry caused the firemen to do their 
utmost, and they did not always confine themselves 
to fair means. Sometimes, when an engine was in 
danger of being washed, some member of the com- 
pany would follow the line of the other company's 
hose till he came to where it passed through a dark 
place, and then, whipping out his pocket-knife, 
would cut it open and run away. When there were 
not enough members of a company present to man 
the brakes, or when they were tired out, the fore- 
man had the right to select men from among the 
bystanders, and compel them to take hold. 

Monkey Roe was a born fireman. He never 
failed to hear the first tap of the bell, about ninety 
seconds after which he dropped from the casement 
of his window to the roof of the kitchen, thence to 
the roof of the back piazza, slid down a pillar, and 



was off for the fire, generally following in the wake 
of Red Rover Three, which was the company he 
.sided with. It was entertaining to hear him tell his 
exciting adventures ; but it was also exasperating. 

" I don't see," said Ned, after Monkey had fin- 
ished one of these thrilling narratives, "what 
Father means by never letting us run to a fire. 
How does he suppose he 's going to make men of 
us, if we never begin to do anything manly?" 

" Perhaps he does n't think it is especially 
manly," said Phaeton. 

" Not manly ! " said Ned, in astonishment. " I 
should like to know what 's more manly than to 
take the tongue of Big Six, when there 's a tremen- 
dous fire and they jump her all the way down State 
street. Or to stand on the engine and yell at the 
men, when Torrent Two is trying to wash her. 
Why, sometimes the foreman gets so excited that 
he batters his trumpet all to pieces, pounding on 
the brakes, to cheer the men." 

" Knocking trumpets to pieces is very manly, of 
course," said Phaeton, smiling. " I did n't mean 
to say Father would n't consider it manly to be 
a fireman. What I should have said was, that 
perhaps he thought there were other ways of be- 
coming manly. I should like to run to a fire once 
in a while ; not for the sake of manliness, but to 
see the fun." 

The more Ned thought about it, the more it 
seemed to him it was a continuous wrong. At last 
he spoke to his father about it, and set forth so 
powerfully the danger of growing up without 
becoming manly, that Mr. Rogers laughingly 
told the boys they might run to the very next fire. 

The next thing was to count me in. The only 
difficulty to be overcome in my case was sleepiness. 
We canvassed many plans. Ned suggested a pistol 
fastened to the side of my window, with a string 
tied to the trigger and reaching to the ground, so 
that he or Phaeton could pull it, on their way to the 
fire. The serious objection to this was that a 
shower would prevent the pistol from going off. It 
was also suggested that I have a bell, or tie the 
cord to a chair or something that could be pulled 
over and make a racket. 

" The objection to all those things is," said Pha- 
eton, " that they will disturb the whole family. 
Now, if you would make a rope-ladder, and hang 
it out of your window every night, one of us could 
climb up quietly and speak to you. Then you 
could get through the window and come down the 
ladder, instead of going through the house and 
waking up the family." 

This suggestion struck us with great force ; it 
doubled the anticipated romance. Under instruc- 
tions fr m Phaeton, Ned and I made the ladder. 
In the store-room we found a bed-cord, which 

answered well for the sides. The rungs must be 
made of wood, and we had considerable difficulty 
in finding anything suitable. Any wood that we 
could have cut would have been so soft that the 
rungs, to be strong enough, must have been very 
bulky. This was an objection, as I was to roll up the 
ladder in the day-time, and hide it under my bed. 
At last, Ned came over to tell me he had found just 
the thing, and took me to the attic of their house 
to see. 

" There," said he, pointing to half a dozen 
ancient-looking chairs in a cobwebbed corner. 
" There is exactly what we want. The rounds of 
those old chairs are as tough as iron." 

"Whose chairs are they?" said I. 

" Oh, anybody's, nobody's," said Ned. " I sup- 
pose they are a hundred years old. And who 's 
ever going to sit in such looking old things as 

It did seem preposterous to suppose that any- 
body would ; so we went to work to take out the 
rounds at once. The old chairs were very strong, 
and after we had pulled at them in vain to spring 
them apart enough for the rounds to drop out, 
we got a saw and sawed off all the rounds close 
to the legs. 

With these, the ladder was soon made, and I 
drove two great spikes into the sill of my window, 
to hang it by. 

I used to hang out the ladder every night, and 
take it in every morning. The first two nights 
I lay awake till almost daylight, momentarily 
expecting the stroke of the fire-bell. But it was 
not heard on those nights, nor the next, nor the 

" It would be just like our luck," said Ned, " if 
there should never be another fire in this town." 

" It would be lucky for the town," said Phaeton, 
who overheard him. 

" Perhaps so," said Ned ; " and yet I could point 
out some houses that would look a great deal bet- 
ter burned up. I wonder if it would do any good 
to hang a horseshoe over the door." 

" What for ? " said Phaeton. " To prevent them 
from burning?" 

"Oh, no," said Ned. "I mean over the door 
of our office, to — to — well, not exactly to make 
those houses burn, but to bring us good luck 

It did seem a long time for the town to be with- 
out a conflagration, and one day Ned came into 
the office looking quite dejected. 

" What do you think has happened now? " said 
he. " Just like our luck, only worse and worse." 

"What is it?" said I. 

"The whole fire department's going to smash," 
said he. 




" I should n't think you 'd call that bad luck," 
said Phaeton. " For now when there is a fire, it 
will be a big one, if there 's no fire department to 
prevent it from spreading." 

"But the best fun," said Ned, "is to see the 
firemen handle the fire, and to see Red Rover 
Three wash Cataract Eight. I saw her do it 
beautifully at annual inspection. What I want is 
a tremendous big fire, and plenty of engines to 
play on it." 

The explanation of Ned's alarming intelligence 
was that the fire department had got into a quarrel 
with the common council, and threatened to dis- 
band. One company, who had a rather shabby 
engine-house, and were refused an appropriation 
for a new one, tied black crape on the brakes of 
their engine, drew it through the principal streets, 
and finally, stopping right before the court-house 
yard, lifted the machine bodily and threw it over 
the fence into the yard. Then they threw their 
fireman-hats after it, and disbanded. This com- 
pany had been known as Reliance Five. The 
incident frightened the common council into giving 
the other companies what they asked for ; but there 
was never more a No. 5 Fire company in that city. 

I had become pretty tired of hanging out my 
ladder every night, and rolling it up every morning, 
when at last " the hour of destiny struck," as 
Jimmy the Rhymer might say — that is, the court- 
house bell struck the third district, and steeple after 
steeple caught up the tune, till, in a few minutes, 
the whole air was full of the wild clangor of bells. 
At the same time, the throats of innumerable men 
and boys were open, and the cry of " Fire!" was 
pouring out from them in a continuous stream, as 
the crowds rushed along. 

" Wake up, Ned ! " said Phaeton. " Here it is 
at last, and it 's a big one." 

Ned bounded to his feet, looked through the win- 
dow, exclaimed " Oh, glory ! " as he saw the ruddy 
sky, and then began to get into his clothes with the 
utmost rapidity. Suddenly he stopped. 

"Look here, Fay," said he. " This is Sunday 
night. I 'm afraid Father wont let us go, after all." 

" Perhaps not," said Phaeton. 

" Then, what must we do ? " said Ned. 

" Do the best we can." 

"The question is, what is best?" said Ned. 
"It is evident we ought to go by the window, but 
it's too high from the ground." 

"Then we must make a rope," said Phaeton. 

"What can we make it of?" 

" The bedclothes, of course." 

" That 's a splendid idea ! — that saves us," said 
Ned, and he set about tying the sheets together. 

Before Phaeton was dressed, Ned had made the 
rope and cast it out of the window, first tying one 

end to the bed-post, and, sliding down to the ground, 
made off, without waiting for his brother. 

He came straight to my ladder, and had his foot 
on the first rung, when a heavy hand was laid upon 
his shoulder. 

" So you 're the one he sends in, are you ? " said a 
deep voice, and Ned looked around into the face 
of a policeman. " I 'd rather have caught the old 
one," he continued, "but you '11 do. I 've been 
watching this burglar arrangement for two hours. 
And by the way, I must have some of it for evi- 
dence ; the old one may take it away while I 'm 
disposing of you." And he turned and with his 
pocket-knife cut off about a yard of my ladder. 


Holding this "evidence" in one hand and Ned 
with the other, he hurried away to the police 

It was useless for Ned to protest that he was not 
a burglar, nor a burglar's partner, or to tell the 




true story of the ladder, or to ask to be taken to his 
father. The policeman considered himself too wise 
for any such delusive tricks. 

" Mr. Rogers's boy, eh ? " said he. " Why don't 
you call yourself George Washington's boy, while 
you 're about it ? " 

" Washington never had any boys," said Ned. 

" Did n't, eh? Well, now, I congratulate George 
on that. A respectable man never knows what his 
sons may come to, in these times." 

" Washington did n't live in these times," said 
Ned; "he died hundreds of years ago." 

"Did, eh?" said the policeman. "1 see that 
you 're a great scholard ; you can go above me in 
the history class, young man. I never was no 
scholard myself, but I know one when I see him; 
and I always feel bad to put a scholard in quod." 

" If I had my printing-office and a gun here," 
said Ned, " I 'd put plenty of quads into you." 

"Would, eh?" said the policeman. "Well, 
now, it 's lucky for me that that there printing-office 
and them 'ere quads are quietly reposing to-night 
in the dusky realms of imagination, is n't it, young 
man ? But here 's the quod / spoke about — it 's 
reality, you see." And they ascended the steps 
of the station-house. 

In the midst of sound sleep, I woke on hearing 
my name called, and saw the dark outlines of a 
human head and shoulders at my window, projected 
against a background of illuminated sky. I had 
heard Father reading an article in the evening 
paper about a gang of burglars being in the town, 
and I suppose that in my "half-wakened condition 
that mingled itself vaguely in my thoughts with 
the idea of fire. At any rate, I seized a pitcher of 
water and threw its contents toward the light, and 
then, clubbing the pitcher, was about to make a 
desperate assault on the supposed burglar, when he 
spoke again. 

" What are you doing? Don't you know me ? " 

"Oh, is that you, Fay?" 

"Yes, and you 've drenched me through and 
through," said he, as he climbed in. 

" That 's too bad," said I. " I did n't know what 
I was about." 

" It 's a tremendous fire," said he, "and I hate 
to lose the time to go back home and change 
my clothes. Besides, I don't know that I could, 
for we made a rope of the bedclothes and slid 
down from our window, and I could n't climb 
up again." 

" Oh, never mind, put on a suit of mine," said I, 
and got out my Sunday suit, the only clothes I had 
that seemed likely to be large 
enough for Phae- 
ton. It was a 
pretty tight 




but he got into 
them at last. 

" Why did you 
make your ladder so short ? " asked Phaeton, when 

" It reaches to the ground," said I, peering out 
of the window in surprise, but unable to see. 

"No, it doesn't," said Phaeton; "I had hard 
work to get started on it. I expected to find Ned 
standing at the foot of it, but he was so impatient 
to see the fire, I suppose he could n't wait for us." 

We dropped from the shortened ladder to the 
ground, passed through the gate and shut it noise- 
lessly behind us, and then broke into a run toward 
that quarter of the town where both a pillar of flame 
and a pillar of cloud rose through the night and 
lured us on. 

At the same time our mouths opened themselves 
by instinct, and that thrilling word ' ' Fire ! " was paid 
out ceaselessly, like a sparkling ribbon, as we ran. 

(To be continued.) 





By Susan Hartley Swett. 

The bees were too busy making honey, 

The birds were too busy building nests, 
To carry one morning a message grave 
To Elfland, for one of the fairy-guests 
(For this was before the butterflies 
Had ever been thought of under the skies). 

Then the vexed fairy who wished to send 
The message, leaned from a lily-bell, 

And in her tiny, silvery voice 

She scolded poor old Dame Nature well : 
" Find us," said she, "a messenger light, 
Or else we fairies troop home this night." 

Dame Nature, who sat on a high green knoll, 

Spinning away in the golden light, 
Pushed her spectacles back on her brow, 

And thought for a moment with all her might ; 

" I must do something, for well I know 
The flowers will pine if the fairies go ! " 

Then some pansies she plucked and gave them wings, 

A velvet poppy petal or two, 
Streaked them with gold and set them afloat, 
And they sailed away in the breezy blue. 
And this is the way that Dame Nature wise 
Fashioned the first of the butterflies. 





It is not often that a painter, or artist of any 
kind, gives up nearly all his time to making pict- 
ures for children, and yet we are going to tell you 
something about one of the best artists of this cent- 
ury, who has devoted a large portion of his life to 
drawing pictures for children's books. 

His name is Ludwig Richter, and you may see 
his picture on this page. He was born in Dresden, 
Germany, in 1803, and, like most other good 
artists, he showed his talent when he was very 
young. But he did not begin at once to make 
pictures for children. It often takes a long while 
for people to find out what they can do best, and so 
it was in Richter's case. 

For some time he occupied himself in painting 
beautiful little pictures on porcelain cups and 
saucers and vases. Very fine ware of this kind 
is made in Dresden, and it required excellent 
artists to paint the exquisite pictures with 
which it is decorated. So Richter, who had 
studied a great deal, and had worked very 
hard at his profession, was able to ornament 
this Dresden ware very carefully and beauti- 
fully, and the work that he put on it made it 
more valuable than before he painted it. 

He had taken a journey to Italy, and, in 
order to have plenty of time to study and 
to sketch the beautiful scenery through which 
he passed, he walked all the way back. 

Whenever he saw some fine trees, or a 
pretty brook, or a nice little cottage, with 
children playing about it, or anything that he 
thought would make a good picture, he 
stopped and made a sketch of it. And so, 
when he reached home, he had a great 
many sketches of real things, which he after- 
ward used in the pictures he drew and painted. 
Some artists draw people and houses and trees 
and animals in their pictures from their recol- 
lections of such things, or they get their ideas 
of them from other pictures. 

But Richter makes his drawings directly 
from nature, and that is one reason why they 
are so good. Another reason is that he puts 
some of his own kind and tender feeling into 
his pictures. He tries to make the little children 
in them look as good and happy as he would 
always like little children to be. 

Well, he did not always paint vases and cups 
and such things. After a time, he turned his 
attention to making pictures for books and maga- 

zines. He drew these pictures on wood, and they 
were then engraved and printed, and these are the 
pictures which have caused him to become so 
widely known, especially in Germany, his native 
land, as the " children's artist." 

He was so successful in making drawings for 
books intended for children that this soon became 
his principal business. He has drawn all sorts of 
pictures for all sorts of children — some for little 
toddlers, and some for the big boys and girls ; and 
more than this, these pictures are so good and true 
that grown people take great delight in them. 
Richter's drawings are sometimes religious, such as 
the illustrations to the " Lord's Prayer," and some- 
times lively and amusing, and they are almost 
always filled with quaint and pretty fancies. 

Some of Richter's pictures have been printed in 
St. Nicholas, and thousands of them have been 
enjoyed by German little boys and girls, who like 
them all the more, perhaps, because they can 
easily see that it was among the children of his 
father-land that their artist went for his models. 





By Sophie Swett. 

1 Some like it hot, some like it cold, 
Some like it in the pot, nine days old.' 


I DON'T think that Mother Goose herself could 
make better pease-porridge than Barbara. Indeed, 
as Mother Goose was a literary lady, I doubt whether 
she could make as good. While she was gaining 
fame as a poetess she must, sometimes, have 
intrusted the porridge-making to somebody else ; 
and we can not read the story of the four-and- 
twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie, who began to 
sing as soon as the pie was opened, without a pain- 
ful suspicion that Mother Goose was accustomed 
to very " slack" ovens indeed, or that her knowl- 
edge of the art of cooking was very small. 

Barbara read her Bible, "The Pilgrim's Prog- 
ress," and "The Children of the Abbey," and she 
had a cloudy idea that the two latter were both 
religious books, and devoutly to be believed, by 
which it will be seen that literature was not Bar- 
bara's strong point. But cooking was. Even such 

every-day and uninteresting things as meat and 
bread were delicious, as Barbara cooked them, and 
her soups were never the watery, flavorless things 
that are often unworthily dignified by that name. 
But when it came to her cream-cakes and peach- 
fritters, and pop-overs, there are no words that can 
do justice to them. And, besides all that, Bar- 
bara was an artist in dough. Her doughnut boys 
were so life-like that it seemed a wonder that they 
did not speak, and she could make a whole farm of 
gingerbread, — a house and barn, cows and horses, 
and sheep, hens, and turkeys, and ducks and 
geese, little pigs and big pigs, dogs that would 
almost wag their tails, and roosters that were going 
to crow the very next minute. And some of them 
were likenesses of individuals. You would have 
recognized Ebenezer, the hired man, in ginger- 
bread, the moment you saw him, and old Buttercup, 



the yellow cow; and as for the cross gobbler, he 
was simply perfect. 

There was one rather sad thing about it. The 
gingerbread which they were made of was so good 
that Ike and Dolly could not help eating them. 
They usually began with the cross gobbler — it was 
a double satisfaction to eat him — and they left 
Ebenezer, the hired man, until the very last, for it 
seemed unkind and disrespectful to eat him, he 
was so good and told such lovely stories, and, 
besides, Barbara always shook her head solemnly, 
and called them " cannyballs," when they ate him. 
Ike did n't mind that very much, for he was deter- 
mined to be a cannibal, or a pirate, or something 
equally desperate, when he should grow up ; but 
Dolly did. She had made up her mind to be a 
minister's wife, because there were so many pound- 
cakes and tarts carried to the donation parties, and 
Barbara had explained that cannibalism was incom- 
patible with being a minister's wife. 

But good as Barbara's gingerbread was, it was 
not to be compared with her pease-porridge. "Pea- 
porridge," they all called it. Mother Goose has 
been dead so long now that people have forgotten 
how to speak properly. It was not simply stewed 
peas, by any means. There were a richness, and a 
sweetness, and a flavor of savory herbs about it, 
that made it a dish to set before a king. 

It was a gala day for the children when Barbara 
made pease-porridge ; but they never coaxed her 
to make it, because it always made her eyes red, 
and they knew what that meant. It made her cry, 
because it reminded her of her little brother 
Elnathan, who ran away to sea, and never was 
heard from after the vessel sailed. She used to 
make pease-porridge for him. Only a little while 
before he ran away she took care of him through a 
long illness, and when he was recovering he would 
eat nothing but her pease-porridge. The children 
had heard about it a great many times, and she 
never spoke of it and never made pease-porridge 
without tears. And yet she often made the por- 
ridge on wild, tempestuous nights that make 
people think, with anxious hearts, of those at sea. 

"I can't help thinkin' what if he should come 
a-knockin' at the door some o' these stormy nights 
— my little Nate, just as he used to be," she would 
say. "And then, if I had some good hot pea- 
porridge for him, just such as he used to love so, 
he 'd know I was always a-thinkin' of him. I 
s'pose he 's layin' drownded at the bottom of the 
sea, but folks can't help hevin' idees that aint jest 
accordin' to common sense." 

And then Barbara would stir the porridge 
vigorously, and pretend that she was n't crying. 

Barbara was housekeeper and "help," both in 
one, at Deacon Trueworthy's, and Ike and Dolly 

Vol. VIII.— 39. 

were Deacon Trueworthy's grandchildren. Their 
father and mother and grandmother were all dead, 
and their grandfather was the kind of a grand- 
father that has almost gone out of fashion. He 
believed that children should be " seen and not 
heard." He never laughed, no matter how many 
funny things happened, and he ordered Ebenezer 
to drown Beelzebub, the black kitten, because it 
would chase its tail in prayer-time. (Ebenezer 
did n't do it, however. He gave Beelzebub away, 
and it is alive and nourishing at this very day. 
Ebenezer promised to find Dolly a kitten that 
would n't chase its tail, but up to this time all his 
efforts have been unsuccessful.) In his heart, the 
Deacon was fond of his grandchildren, but he 
never let them know it. He would have thought 
fondling or petting them very "unseemly." He 
never took them on his knee and told them stories, 
and he always thought that they made a noise. 
He was entirely lacking in the qualities which 
make most grandfathers so delightful, and Ike and 
Dolly would have had but a dull and dreary time 
if it had not been for Barbara and Ebenezer. 

Barbara had a motherly heart, big enough to 
take in all the orphans in the country. She never 
thought any pains too great to take to make them 
happy, and she petted and cuddled and comforted 
them as if she were their own mother. 

And Ebenezer ! He was a real walking edition 
of fairy stories and true stories, funny stories and 
exciting adventures. He had been to sea, for 
years, as mate of the " Bouncing Betty," and more 
wonderful things had happened to that vessel than 
to any other that ever sailed. Ebenezer had been 
cast away on a desert island, and the wonderful 
feats that he had accomplished there would make 
Robinson Crusoe " hide his diminished head." He 
knew as much about gorillas, and leopards, and 
ourang-outangs as he did about sheep and oxen, 
and he talked as familiarly about giants, and wild 
men, and dwarfs with seven heads, as if he were in 
the habit of meeting them every day. And he 
knew stories that would make you laugh, even if 
you had the toothache. Nobody could be dull or 
lonesome where Ebenezer was. 

But we must return to Barbara's pease-porridge, 
which on this April day, at ten minutes before 
twelve, M., was smoking hot, just ready to be taken 
from the pot. They usually had pease-porridge 
for breakfast or supper, but to-day Deacon True- 
worthy had gone to County Conference, and 
Ebenezer had gone to the next town to buy a new 
plow, and Barbara did n't think it was worth 
the while to get a dinner when there were no 
"men folks" at home to eat it. The children 
were always delighted to have pease-porridge, and 
a slice of "company" plum-cake, instead of an 



I June, 

ordinary dinner, and Barbara wanted to pursue her 
house-cleaning all day, with as little interruption 
as possible — for this was Barbara's one failing : 
she liked to clean house, and she turned things 
upside down relentlessly. Even the attic, which 
was the children's play-room, did not escape. 

On this day, Ike and Dolly had staid out-of-doors 
for that reason. They were in the barn-yard, 
getting acquainted with the new calf, — who was 
very fascinating, although somewhat weak on his 
legs, — when Zach Harriman, one of the village 
boys, came along. 

"The performers is goin'! " he called out to them. 
"A special train is agoin' to come after 'em. If you 
aint seen 'em, now is your chance ! Everybody 's 
agoin' down to the depot to see 'em off. Never was no 
such a show in Cherryficld before ! That educated 
pig he knows as much as the minister, and that 
feller that swallers snakes and swords, as slick as 
you 'd eat your dinner, is worth goin' to see ! Then 
there 's the Giant, more 'n half as tall as the 
meetin'-house steeple, and them little mites o' 
creturs that stands up in his hands, that you can't 
hardly believe is real live folks, and the Fat Woman 
— my eyes, aint she a stunner ! There wa' n't never 
nothin' that you could call a show in Cherryfield 
before, alongside o' this one. And you can see 
'em all for nothin', down to the depot. Of course, 
they aint a-swallerin', nor performin', nor nothin', 
but they 're worth goin' to see, you 'd better 

Ike and Dolly did believe it. They had longed, 
with an unutterable longing, to see the wonders of 
the "Great Moral and Intellectual National and 
Transatlantic Show," which had been advertised 
by flaming posters all over the village. The pict- 
ures on the posters, of the performing canaries, the 
educated pig, the marionettes, and the dancing 
dogs, to say nothing of all the other marvels, had 
aroused Ike's curiosity to the highest pitch. But, 
alas ! his grandfather did not approve of shows, 
though they were never so "moral and intellectual. " 
No pleadings nor tears could move him. Ike knew 
well enough, when he saw those enticing posters 
put up, that the delights which they depicted were 
not for him and Dolly. He never had expected 
such happiness as Zach Harriman's announcement 
seemed to promise — to see them all. 

" Go, quick, and ask Barbara if we may go, 
Dolly ! " he exclaimed, half wild with excitement 
and eagerness. 

"But it's twelve o'clock," said Dolly, "and the 
porridge all hot ! She called us while Zach was 
talking, and she might say no. Don't let 's ask, 
Ike— let 's go ! " 

It was one of Barbara's rules that they should 
never go out of sight of the house without leave, 

but Ike fell in with Dolly's wicked little plan as 
readily as Adam did with our grandmother Eve's. 

Because it would be such a dreadful catastrophe 
if Barbara should say no ! 

So it happened that ; while the pease-porridge 
was standing, smoking hot, upon the table, and 
the frosted plum-cake was being cut, Ike and Dolly 
were running as fast as their legs would carry them 
toward the railroad station. 

There was a great crowd upon the platform. It 
looked as if all Cherryfield had turned out to see 
the last of the " performers." But Ike was eager 
and adventurous, and pushed his way through the 
throng, and Dolly was always ready to follow where 
Ike led the way. But, when they stood close beside 
the cars, they were so surrounded by taller people 
that they could see nothing. It was too dreadful to 
lose the sight, after all. With the cheers of the 
people at sight of each wonder ringing in his ears, 
Ike grew desperate. The steps of the freight-car 
were within reach ; mounted upon them it would 
be easy to see everything ; and they always rang a 
bell and gave ample notice before a train started. 

"Come along, Dolly!" he shouted, springing 
up the steps. And Dolly followed, nothing loth. 

But when they had mounted the steps, nothing 
was to be seen but the crowd. The " performers " 
were getting into the forward cars. 

Ike rushed through the freight-car, Dolly fol- 

They scarcely stopped to glance at a pig, in a 
box with slats that looked very much like a hen- 
coop. Indeed, he was not at all attractive to look 
upon. His education had not affected his appear- 
ance in the least, and he was expressing his discon- 
tent at the situation very much after the manner 
of an ordinary pig. The dogs were handsome, but 
Ike did n't stop even for them. He wanted to see 
the Giant, and the man who swallowed knives and 
snakes. Dolly had set her heart upon seeing the 
little people and the Fat Woman. She had had an 
extensive acquaintance with dogs and pigs, but 
giants and pigmies possessed the charm of novelty. 

There they were — all the wonderful people — in 
the passenger car, just in front. The children's 
eyes grew big and round with wonder, as they saw 
the Giant, whose head almost reached the top of 
the car when he was sitting, holding on his out- 
stretched hand one of the mites, a wee bit of a lady 
who looked like the queen of the fairies, as Eben- 
ezer described her, and who was bowing and 
kissing her hand in the most fascinating manner to 
the crowd outside the car window. Was it to be 
wondered at that Ike and Dolly did not hear the 
bell when it rang ? Not until the train was going 
quite fast did they realize that they were being 
carried away — away from home, where Barbara was 




waiting for them, and the pease-porridge growing 
cold; away, nobody knew where, with the "Great 
Moral and Intellectual National and Trans- 
atlantic Show" ! 

When Dolly understood what had happened, she 
began to cry. Ike screamed to the conductor to 
put them off. The conductor was not at all a 
polite man. 

" What business had you to get on, you little 
rascal?" he said. "I can't stop the train. I'm 
running on fast time, with not a moment to spare." 

"Where are you going?" asked Ike, feeling 
very guilty and frightened. 

"To Barnacle. There's no train back from 
there to-day, but I will see that you get back 
to-morrow morning." 

He seemed somewhat mollified at sight of Dolly's 
tears and Ike's frightened face. 

Barnacle was a large sea-port town, forty miles 
from Cherryfield. Ike and Dolly had never been 
so far away from home in their lives. It would not 
have seemed much more wonderful to them to be 
.going to Paris. And Ike began to think that it 
was not, after all, a very unfortunate thing. It was 
a real adventure. They were going to see the 
world ! Excitement and delight began to get the 
better of his fears. 

The conductor had led them into the passenger 
car where the members of the troupe were, and — 
oh, joy ! — the Knife- Swallower made room for Ike 
to sit down beside him. He looked astonishingly like 
an ordinary man — a big, burly fellow, with a good- 
natured face, weather-beaten, like a sailor's. Ike 
was amazed to see that knife and snake swallowing 
had not affected his appearance, any more than 
education had affected the pig's. Zach Harriman 
had confided to Ike that the man was made of 
gutta-percha inside ; that was why the knives and 
snakes did n't hurt him ; and Ike was devoured by- 
curiosity to know whether this were really so, but 
he was afraid it would not be polite to ask. 

The Fat Woman, who could not sit on an ordinary 
seat, but had one which was constructed expressly 
for her, motioned to Dolly to come and sit on her 
foot-stool. Dolly felt a little shy of this mountain 
of flesh, with features that were scarcely distin- 
guishable, and a gruff voice that reminded her of 
the big bear's in the story of " Golden-hair." But, 
as the car was full, and there was no other seat for 
her, she obeyed. 

" Have you lost your ma, dear?" said the gruff 
voice, in a very kindly tone. 

" We 've lost Barbara, and she '11 be so worried, 
and the pea-porridge is getting cold, and — oh, 
dear!" and poor Dolly broke down, utterly over- 
come by her misfortunes. 

" La ! is the lopsy-popsy going to cry ? Don't — 

there 's a deary. You '11 get back to Barbara all 
safe, and just think what a privilege it is to travel 
with such a show as this — Moral and Intellectual, 
National and Transatlantic ! — though they aint 
genooyne, child ; don't you believe a word of it ! 
Not one of 'em 's genooyne but me an' the Mites. 
Me an' the Mites is genooyne ! " 

" Genooyne " was too large a word for Dolly's 
comprehension ; but, by the Fat Woman's mys- 
terious air and tone, she knew that she was telling 
her something very important. 

" No bigger than common folks, the Giant aint, 
before he 's built up and stuffed out," the Fat 
Woman went on, in a very low tone, and with a 
careful glance around, to see that she could not 
be overheard. 

"Do you mean that he is n't a truly giant?" 
asked Dolly, with a crushing sense of bewilder- 
ment and disappointment. 

"No more than you are. And as for the 
Bearded Woman, she takes it off and puts it in her 
pocket when nobody 's 'round. The Two-headed 
Girl, the greatest scientific wonder of the age, they 
call her on the bills — why, she 's two girls. They 
're dreadful slim, and they manage to stick 'em 
into one dress. The Talking Giraffe — why, it 's a 
man behind the scenes that talks ; ventriloquism, 
you know ! The man that swallows knives and 
snakes — that trick is very well done, and folks 
is easy to take in, and he is so quick that you can't 
see where the knives go to, if you 're watching ever 
so close. Swallow 'em, child ? Of course he 
don't. He could n't swallow 'em, no more 'n you 
could. " 

" Oh, dear ! I hope you wont tell Ike. He would 
be so disappointed," said Dolly, feeling keenly the 
hollowness of the world. 

"But me and the Mites is genooyne! There 
aint a grain of humbug about me, and the little 
teenty-tonty dears is just as the Lord made 'em ! " 

Dolly had her own private opinion that the 
Mites were fairies. She wished Ebenezer could see 
them, for he would know. While she was deliber- 
ating whether she 'd better tell the Fat Woman 
what she thought about them, a man came saunter- 
ing through the car, and stopped in front of Dolly, 
surveying her intently. He was very finely dressed, 
and wore a great deal of jewelry, which Dolly ad- 
mired very much. 

" My heyes ! W'at a helegant hangel she would 
make ! " he said, lifting Dolly's flaxen curls, ad- 
miringly. "Would n't you like to be a hangel, 
missy ? " 

Dolly wished very much that he had not asked 
her that question. She sang, " I want to be an 
angel," at Sunday-school, and Barbara had im- 
pressed it upon her mind that she ought to want to 




be an angel ; but she and Ike had exchanged views 
on the subject in private, and decided that the 
resemblance of angels' wings — in pictures and on 
tombstones — to turkey feathers was an objection 
that could not be overcome. She was afraid he 
would think her very wicked, but she said, honestly : 

" I don't think I should like very well to grow 

The man threw back his head and laughed at 
that, and the Fat Woman shook with, laughter, 
and Dolly felt rather hurt, as if she were being 
made fun of. 

" I think we could manage to 'itch them on, so 
you would n't 'ave to grow 'em," said the man. 
" The hangel that we 'ad belongin' to the corn- 
pan)- 'as gone 'ome, sick with the measles — not to 
mention 'er 'aving outgrown the business, and never 
'aving no such hangelic face as yours. Were 's 
your father and mother ? " 

" In heaven," said Dolly, as Barbara had taught 

" Then they could n't wish for nothing better 
than to see their lovely child a hangel in the 
greatest Moral and Hintellectual National and 
Transatlantic Show in the world," said the man. 

" They were carried off in the train by accident — 
she and her brother," explained the Fat Woman. 

" The 'and of Providence ! " exclaimed the man, 
rubbing his hands with delight. " W'at a hattrac- 
tion she '11 be ! " 

The Fat Woman said something, too low for 
Dolly to hear, and the man — who was evidently the 
manager of the troupe — replied : 

" Ho, I shan't do hanything hillegal. But she 
haint got hany parents " 

"But we 've got Barbara, and Ebenezer, and 
Grandpa: I should have to ask them," said Dolly. 
When he had first asked her if she wanted to be an 
angel, she had understood the question to be such 
a one as her Sunday-school teacher might have 
asked her. She knew now that he wanted her to 
become a member of the company, and there was 
something very dazzling and fascinating about the 

" Ho, we '11 hask them," said the manager, 
re-assuringly. " But you '11 'ave to stay at Barnacle 
to-night, and they could n't hobject to your hap- 
pearing, just for once. 'Ere was I thinking I 
should 'ave to give up the 'Ighly Hexciting, Moral, 
and Hintellectual Hellevating and Hemotional 
Play with w'ich we closes hour hexhibition, for 
want of a hangel, w'en, hastonishing to say, a lovely 
little himage, hexactly adapted and hevidently 
hintended by nature for a hangel, happears before 

Dolly thought he was a very funny man, he made 
so many gestures, and rolled up his eyes so, and 

put h's in where they did n't belong, and left them 
out where they did. The Fat Woman explained 
to her, after he had gone, that that was because he 
was an Englishman. Dolly did n't believe that 
even Ebenezer had ever seen any Englishmen, and 
she felt as if she could hardly wait until she should 
reach home to tell him how queer they were. 

She did not understand what the man wanted of 
her, not having the slightest idea what a play 
was, but she felt very much flattered, and thought 
it was delightful to be with such wonderful people. 
It was almost like one of Ebenezer's stories. She 
could scarcely believe that she was little Dolly 
Trueworthy, who lived on the old farm in Cherry- 
field, and whose greatest excitements had been 
coasting and going berrying. It seemed as if some 
fairy must have waved her wand over her, and 
changed her into somebody else. She had to look 
at Ike, once in a while, to re-assure herself. He 
was surely Ike, and he seemed perfectly at his ease, 
talking and laughing with the Knife-Swallower. 
One would have thought he had been accustomed 
all his life to riding on a train with a Great Moral, 
and Intellectual Show ! 

The train went so fast that it almost took Dolly's 
breath away. The trees, and houses, and fields, 
and fences whirled by in the wildest kind of a 
dance, exactly as if they were bewitched, and, in 
what seemed to Dolly an impossibly short space of 
time, the forty, miles were gone over, and they were 
whirled into the long, dark, crowded station at 

Dolly and Ike were hurried, with the others, into 
a great, gaudily painted, open wagon, gayly decked 
with bunting. Behind that came two other wagons, 
containing all the animals belonging to the show — 
the Talking Giraffe standing, very tall and impos- 
ing, in the middle of the first. The procession was 
headed by a band of music, and accompanied by a 
shouting and cheering crowd of people. 

" Oh, Ike, don't you wish Barbara and Ebenezer 
could see us now ? " cried Dolly, feeling that it was 
a proud moment. 

"Who is Barbara?" said the Knife-Swallower, 
who had taken Dolly on his knee, the wagon being 
somewhat crowded. " I used to know a gal by 
that name, away up in Brambleton." 

" Brambleton ? Why, that is where Barbara used 
to live ! " cried Dolly. 

" Her name does n't happen to be Barbara 
Pringle, does it?" asked the Knife-Swallower. 

" Yes, it is ! " cried Ike and Dolly, both to- 
gether. " Do you know her? " 

"I calkilate I used to, when I was a boy," said 
the man, and he held his head down, and there 
was an odd sort of tremor in his voice. 

"And did you know her sister Sally that died, 



and her little brother Elnathan, who ran away to 
sea ? " asked Dolly. 

" I knew Sally, and I b'lieve I 've heard tell of 

" Do you suppose he is drowned ? Don't you sup- 
pose he ever will come back ? " asked Dolly, anx- 
iously. "I wish he would — Barbara cries so on 
stormy nights and when she makes pea-porridge, 
because she used to make it for him. Don't you 
think he will come back ? People always do, in 
Ebenezer's stories." 

"Well, folks does turn up, sometimes, and then 
ag'in they don't, and sometimes it 's a marcy that 
they don't," said the Knife-Swallower. " Because, 

one of her old friends had become such a distin- 
guished man ! 

They went to a hotel, — a rather dingy and dis- 
reputable-looking one, on a narrow side street, — 
and after having dinner, Dolly was taken at once 
to the hall where the evening performance was to 
be given. Ike was allowed to go, too, at his earnest 

The " ' Ighly Hexciting Moral and Hintellectual, 
Helevating and Hemotional Play" did not need to 
be rehearsed, it had been given so many times, but 
Dolly was to be taught how to be " a hangel." The 
Knife-Swallower went with them ; he seemed to 
have assumed a sort of guardianship over Ike and 

you see, they may have turned out bad, and not be 
any credit to their folks." 

' ' Barbara would want to see her brother, if he 
had turned out bad," said Dolly, after a little 
reflection. "She says she loved him better than 
anybody in the world, and if he were ever so bad 
he would be her brother all the same — just like Ike 
and me." 

The Knife-Swallower turned his head away, 
then, and did n't say any more. Dolly determined 
that she would find out what his name was before 
she went home. Barbara would be so proud that 

Dolly — a very fortunate thing for them, as the 
cross conductor had entirely forgotten them. 

The angel who had gone home with the measles 
had left her costume behind her, and it fitted Dolly 
very well, after it had been nipped in and tucked up 
a little. It was not a night-gown, as Ike had pre- 
dicted, — judging from pictures of angels which he 
had seen, — but a beautiful dress of white gauze, with 
silver spangles, and the wings which were fastened 
upon it were not made of feathers, to Dolly's 
relief, but of silver paper. The angel was to 
descend through an aperture in the stage-ceiling, 



[J L'NE 

on a frame-work of iron, with a foreground of 
pasteboard clouds; clouds seemed to be all around 
her, over her head and under her feet. Ike thought 
it was wonderful and delightful, and only wished 
that they wanted a boy angel, but Dolly was dizzy 
and frightened, and clutched the iron frame-work 
with all her might. The manager tried to coax 
her ; promised her all the candy she could eat, and 
a whole shopful of toys. But all that did not have 
half so much effect upon Dolly as Ike's scorn. She 
could not bear to have Ike think her a coward. So 
she resolved and promised that, when evening 
should come, and the hall should be full of peo- 
ple, and the angel would have to step off her 
cloud platform and throw herself between the 
young man whose guardian she was and the 
Fiend who was pursuing him, she would not be 
afraid, but would do just as she had been told. 

The hall was glittering with lights and thronged 
with people. Ike had a seat very near the stage — 
thanks to his friend the Knife-Swallower. Dolly 
peeped out from behind the scenes, while the ani- 
mals went through their performances, the Fat 
Woman was introduced and her history related, the 
Knife-Swallower swallowed a whole dozen of table- 
knives and a large family of snakes, the Giant and 
the Mites exhibited themselves, and sang songs 
and danced. At last came the play. 

In the most exciting part, while the Fiend was 
pursuing the poor, good young man with a red- 
hot poker, down came the clouds in an apparently 
miraculous manner, with no machinery in sight — 
with Dolly standing a tiptoe on them, in her 
pretty, if not strictly angelic, attire of gauze and 
spangles and silver paper, with her long golden 
hair hanging about her. The applause was, as the 
manager would have said, "himmense." There 
was a shouting and cheering and clapping of hands 
that was almost deafening. Ike was in such a state 
of excitement that he could not sit still — to think 
that that beautiful being was Dolly ! 

The angel had been looking at the people — such 
a crowd as she had never seen before — as she sailed 
down on her clouds. As she tripped down from 
them to the floor, she suddenly caught sight of 
the Fiend. He was a most awful fiend. He was 
as black as a coal, all over. He had horrid horns 
and hoofs ; his eyes were like live coals, and a 
flame came out of his mouth, and he brandished 
his red-hot poker in a way that was enough to 
strike terror to the stoutest heart. 

The poor little guardian angel's was not a very 
stout heart : and he looked exactly like a picture 
of the Devil in an old, old book of her grand- 

She uttered a piercing scream, and turned to 
run. Her dress caught on a nail that projected 

from the cloud-frame, and held her fast. She 
screamed and sobbed in an agony of terror. 

"Oh, Knife-Swallower! Dear Knife-Swallower! 
Save me ! Save me ! " she cried. 

The audience had arisen in great excitement, 
half of them laughing, the other half trying to find 
out what was the matter, and one mischievous boy 
crying, " Fire ! fire ! " 

The Knife-Swallower rushed upon the stage, took 
poor Dolly in his arms, — heedless that the nail tore 
a long rent in her gauze dress, — and carried her off, 
trying to soothe her and calm her fears, as tenderly 
as Barbara could have done. 

But Dolly would not be soothed. She cried and 
sobbed hysterically, and begged, piteously, to be 
taken home. Ike made his way into the dressing- 
room where they were. 

" Well, if that was n't just like a girl ! " he ex- 
claimed. "I knew in a minute that he was only 
make-believe. But he must have felt pretty mean 
with his insides all on fire. Oh, but the manager 
is mad, I can tell you ! He is making a speech to 
keep the people quiet, and his face is so red." 

The Knife-Swallower was wrapping Dolly in a 
shawl and putting her hat on. He told Ike he was 
going to take them both to a quiet house, where 
lived some people whom he knew. Ike felt some- 
what disappointed at losing all the wonderful sights 
in the hall, but he did n't want to stay behind when 
Dolly was going. 

It was a pleasant, home-like house to which the 
Knife-Swallower took them, and the people were 
very kind, and Dolly soon recovered from her 
nervous excitement ; but she was very glad to hear 
the Knife-Swallower say that he was going to take 
them home on the first train in the morning. 
Ike, too, now that he was away from the novelty 
and excitement of the show, began to feel very 
home-sick, and he felt all the worse that pride 
prevented him from crying, "as girls did." 

At eight o'clock the next morning they were 
homeward bound. When they stepped off the 
cars at Cherryfield, the station-master ran to tell 
the sexton to ring the church-bell, to tell the people 
that the)' were found. The manager had promised 
to telegraph to Cherryfield that they were safe, but 
he had not done it, and there had been a great 
fright about them. 

Barbara was standing at the garden gate, with 
her apron over her head, and looking anxiously in 
every direction, when they came walking up — two 
little way-worn pilgrims, who had seen the world 
and were wiser than yesterday. The Knife- 
Swallower straggled along behind, as if he shrank 
from being seen. 

Barbara wept for joy, and hugged and kissed 
them until they were almost suffocated. 



But when the Knife-Swallower took off his hat 
and stood before her, looking fixedly at her, she 
uttered a cry and fell upon his neck, looking so 
white that the children were frightened. And she 
kissed him — the Knife-Swallower — and she called 
that great man, six feet tall, her " dear little brother 

They had brought her brother Elnathan home 
to Barbara ! 

When the children knew that, they were almost 
as wild with joy as Barbara herself. 

" I might never have got courage to come if it 
had n't been for them children," he said. "For 
you see, Barbara, I got pretty low down. And I 
aint what I 'd oughter be, now. It 's dreadful 
lowerin' for a chap to pertend to be what he aint, 
and do what he can't, even if it 's only pertending 
to swallow knives and such tricks, and I 'm goin' to 

quit the business. What them children told me 
about your thinkin' of me and feelin' bad about 
me, after all these years, drove me to makin' up 
my mind." 

Barbara only hugged him again for answer, and 
then hugged the children. 

By and by, Barbara remembered that they 
must be hungry, and bustled about and got them 
all the good things in the house to eat. Ike 
remembered the pease-porridge he had missed by 
running off, and now called for it. 

" Sakes alive ! There it is, jest as I put it into the 
blue nappy, yesterday," said Barbara. " Ebenezer 
'n' I had n't the heart to touch it. You blessed 
young ones ! I had n't no idea, when I made that 
porridge, that you 'd find Elnathan, and bring him 
home to eat it — no more 'n I had that it would n't 
be touched till it was stone cold." 







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62 I 



By Felix L. Oswald. 

Chapter VIII. 

" Know ye what creatures these Lagunas breed, 

Or what the pathless virgin-woods secrete ? " — Chamisso. 

The people of Guatemala had treated us so 
kindly that we were almost sorry to leave their 
mountains ; but our agent wanted a number of 
animals which are found only in the Southern 
tropics, so we took our pets to the sea-port of San 
Tomas, and embarked for South America on 
board of a Venezuela schooner. When the first 
Spanish explorers set sail for the New World, their 
enterprise was aided by the western trade-wind, 
the Atlantic sea-breeze that blows continually from 
east to west, and the same wind now enabled our 
schooner to enter the mouth of the Orinoco, and 
ascend the river by keeping close to the southern 
shore, where the current is not very strong. 

We had paid our passage to Port Gabriel, some 
twenty miles farther up ; but, if the lower shores 
had not been quite so swampy, we could not have 
wished a better hunting-ground. Swarms of water- 
fowl hovered about the mud-banks ; peccaries and 
river-hogs rooted at the edge of the cane-brakes, or 
scrambled for their hiding-places ; clumsy manatees 
sported in the water ; and on a log of drift-wood we 
saw an animal that our pilot recognized as a fish- 
ing-jaguar. The creature had ensconced himself 
in the fork of a floating tree, and seemed to have 
made a good catch, for we saw him crunch away at 
something — probably a river-turtle or a young 
manatee ; but, when the passengers began to fire 
upon him, he managed to crouch behind a pro- 
jecting bulwark of his log-boat, whose swaying, 
together with the movement of our own ship, would 
have made it a task for the best marksman to hit 
the few visible parts of his body. 

"Never mind," said the pilot; "it's one of the 
common spotted jaguars. I thought it was one of 
the dark brown kind." 

" Have you ever seen a brown jaguar ? " I asked. 

"Yes, and a coal-black one, too," said the pilot; 
" though it may have been a different kind of ani- 
mal — like my snake here : one of the ' what-is-its ' 
that have never been seen in North America. You 
will come across some curious creatures, if you are 
going to hunt in these shore-thickets." 

The pilot himself was a curiosity in his way. His 
hair was braided into a sort of diadem, and he was 

hung around with trinkets like an Indian medicine- 
man. He had with him a tame snake that made 
its head-quarters in the upper sleeves of his shirt, 
and, judging from its color, the creature seemed 
really a nondescript — reddish-brown, with beautiful 
orange-yellow spots and rings, and with a black 
zigzag line along its back. He would not sell it ; 
but, when we reached Port Gabriel, he took us to 
a house where we could buy four toucans, or 
rhinoceros-birds, besides some rare parrots, thus 
getting us a basketful of pets on the first day of 
our landing. 

Near Port Gabriel, the banks of the Orinoco rise 
into high bluffs, and the ground is dry enough for 
foot-travelers ; but the vegetation is still wonder- 
fully luxuriant. Some of the larger trees were sur- 
rounded with such a wilderness of tangle-vines that 
it was quite impossible to distinguish their foliage 
and flowers ; only the palms towered above the 
undergrowth, like steeples above a jumbled mass of 
houses ; and a few of the lower plants could be 
distinguished by the peculiar shapes of their leaves. 
The children of the Indian settlers wore a grayish- 
green head-dress, which I mistook for a painted 
straw hat, with a short brim, until I found that it 
was made all of one piece — the pitcher-shaped 
flower-sheath of a species of tulip-tree. The store- 
keeper was the only white man in the settlement, 
and, hearing that we were bound for the western 
frontier, he procured us an extra guide, a swift- 
footed Indian lad, who could show us the way as far 
as the Lascar Mission, where we should find a good 
road to the mouth of the Rio Meta. The little 
fellow's speech was a queer muddle of Spanish and 
of Lascarese ; but he evidently knew what he was 
hired for, and, pointing to the woods and then to 
our hunting implements, he gave us to understand 
that we should soon fill our baskets with birds and 
beasts. We certainly had dogs enough to do it. 
The village swarmed with Indian curs, and, when 
we started the next morning, ten or twelve of them 
followed us with gambols and merry yelps. The 
poor fellows probably thought we were out on a 
forage, and hoped to come in for a share of venison ; 
but Daddy Simon chased them back — all but one, 
a long-legged wolf-hound, of a breed which the 
Indians often use in their panther-hunts. 

About six miles from the landing, we came to a 
creek, with a hanging bridge of liana-ropes, and 




an artificial ford of submerged logs, where our 
mule could wade across without getting beyond her 
depth. Our new hound cleared the creek with a 


single leap ; but old Rough, having entered the 
water rather cautiously, suddenly drew back, and 
ran up and down the bank as if he were afraid to 
repeat the experiment. 

"What's the matter with that dog?" asked 
Tommy. " He is n't afraid of cold water, is he ? " 

" Come on," said I. " He will soon follow us if 
he sees us going away." 

But Rough still ran to and fro, with an appear- 
ance of great uneasiness, until our vanguard had 
turned the corner, when he at last plunged in and 
paddled across, splashing and howling as if he were 
bathing in a tub of scalding hot water. Our little 
pioneer watched him with great attention, and 
repeatedly called out a word in his native language. 

"What is it, Nino?" I asked, pointing to the 
creek — " alligators ? " 

"No, no!" cried he, and shook his head. 
" Here," holding out his finger with a repetition of 
the Lascarese word. We could not make out what 
he meant. But, seeing that Rough had got safely 
across, we continued on our way and had almost 
forgotten the incident when Tommy suddenly 
stopped short, and, throwing himself on the 
ground, caught Rough's head with both hands. 
"Good heavens!" cried he, "look here. No 
wonder the poor fellow would not cross that creek. 
Look at his throat ! " 

That explained it, indeed. From his throat to 
his flanks, the old dog was entirely covered with 
swamp-leeches, most of them not larger than a 
pencil-stump, but some as big as a man's finger. 
We removed them as well as we could ; but, 
between the bites of the little pests and our clumsy 
operation, the poor dog lost half the blood in his 
body. He was hardly able to follow us ; but the 
young Lascar and his hound were restlessness 
itself. Not content with keeping ahead of us, the 
little barefoot lad made detours to the left and 
right, and often through thickets of thorny mes- 
quites, paying no heed to the sharp spines. 

"Why, that's nothing," laughed Menito. "I 
could do that myself two years ago. That 's what 
they call Indian sandals." 

As a matter of fact, the sole of the human foot 
can become as tough as any shoe-leather; and, 
while shoes wear out from day to day, our natural 
sole-leather improves in course of time, till a bare- 
foot man is actually able to crush a thorn by step- 
ping upon it. Nay, the Indians of the Peruvian 
highlands walk unhurt with naked feet over old 
lava-beds, in places where the ground resembles a 
field strewn with heaps of broken glass. 

The Indians of the lower Orinoco live on the 
spontaneous products of nature, and their forest 
is, indeed, an inexhaustible store-house of animal 
and vegetable food. The thickets swarmed with 
gazapos, a kind of short-eared rabbits, and, at 
the foot of a little hillock, a black cock-pheasant 
came fluttering across our road and was captured 
before it had reached the underbrush. "There 
must be hunters around here," said Tommy ; "this 
poor rooster is crippled, I see." 

The pheasant seemed to have broken one of its 
wings, and was too tattered-looking for a men- 
agerie-bird, so Menito killed it at once and put it 
in our mess-bag. W T e supposed that there must be 
an Indian hunting-party in the neighborhood, but, 
when we reached the top of the hillock, a young 
pumajumped out of the liana-brambles and whisked 
up a tree when he saw our wolf-hound. There he 
stopped, and, peeping through the lower branches, 



kept up a continuous growl, exactly like -a tomcat 
on top of a fence with a swarm of dogs around. 
Tommy had already leveled his gun, but the young 
Lascar stopped him with a frightened exclamation, 
and pointed to the woods, shaking his head vio- 
lently, by way of emphasizing his protest. 

" He means the puma's relatives will come after 
us," said I, "but he is right: let the creature 
alone ; we have no use for him, and he has not 
done us any harm." 

"And that 's more than the puma can say," 
laughed Menito. " I believe we have stolen his 
supper: this pheasant came running down-hill 
when I saw him first." 

Before we were out of sight, we turned around 
to see if the puma was still on guard, and, sure 
enough, his yellow head was still peeping from 
between the lower branches. He had stopped his 
growling, but from the depths of the woods on our 
right we heard a singular noise, as if a herd of 
cattle were breaking through the underbrush. 

" Listen ! What can that be ? " asked Tommy. 

I was unable to tell; as far as I knew, the settlers 
of these river-bottoms kept no cows, and deer are 
rather scarce in eastern Venezuela. Before anything 
came in sight, the big wolf-hound dashed into the 
thicket, going straight in the direction of the myste- 
rious noise. Rough merely pricked up his ears ; the 
swamp-leeches had cured his racing propensities 
for a day or two. I knelt down 
to examine his swollen throat, 
while my companions pursued 
their way, and I had not yet 
come up with them, 
when the crash of 
a mighty gallop 
came through the 
woods, and, looking 
up, I saw Menito 
pull his frightened 
mare behind a tree, 
while Daddy Simon 
snatched away Tommy's 
gun with a violence that 
almost knocked him 
down. The young Lascar 
had thrown himself flat on 
the ground, and in the 
first terror of an unknown 
danger I followed his example 
holding Rough by the throat, 
as Daddy Simon did Tommy, /' 
who seemed wild with indigna- 
tion at such unceremonious 
treatment. But in the next moment he, too, 
crouched down, panic-stricken: a herd of peccaries 
came thundering through the bushes, in head- 

long pursuit of the luckless wolf-hound, who, hap- 
pily for the salvation of our little party, made 
straight for the place where he had seen us last, 
and before he could turn to the right, the boars in 
the vanguard had cut off his way and chased him 
straight ahead toward the river-bottom, where finally 
the uproar of the wild chase died away in the dis- 
tant shore-thickets. 

" That dog started the wrong game," laughed 

" It 's the luckiest thing he ever did that he 
managed not to start them running this way," 
remarked old Daddy. 

"Why, would they have tackled us?" asked 

"Tackled us? They would have torn us limb 
from limb," said the Indian. 

"Yes, indeed, Tommy," I added, "if you had 
fired that gun, it would have been your last shot. " 

" Then I have to ask Daddy's pardon," said 
Tom. " To say the truth, I thought he was going 
to rob me or kill me, by the way he acted. Why, 
according to that, peccaries must be quite unman- 
ageable brutes." 

"In large numbers they are," I replied. "A 
herd of them is more dangerous than a pack of 
hungry wolves. The old boars do not know any 
such thing as fear if they are in a rage." 

"Then I wonder how the Indians catch them," 
said Tommy. " Don't you remember the large pile 
of peccary-skins they had for sale in San Gabriel ? " 

"They take them in pitfalls," said old Daddy, 
" and I have heard about their using charms, but 


I don't believe it : peccaries have no religion what- 
ever, and are very hard to bewitch. " 

As long as the echo of the crashing gallop was 




still audible, our dog Rough had stood spell-bound, 
looking fixedly in the same direction, but, hearing 
a rustle in the thickets on the other side, he turned 
his head that way, and, suddenly setting up a 
fierce bark, trotted forward as fast as his weak legs 
would carry him. 

" Dear me ! More peccaries ?" whispered Tommy. 
" Look out, or we shall get ourselves into a scrape, 
after all." 

"No, look here — it 's an ant-bear," cried Menito. 
''Quick — run! We can head him off — it 's quite 
a young one." 

The three boys started at the top of their speed, 

and soon their triumphant 

shouts told us that they 

had brought their 

game to bay. 


his weak condition, was no match for it, but the 
presence of the boys kept it at bay until Tommy 
approached it with his forked stick. 

" Let me handle that thing," cried Menito. 
" Yes, there he goes ; give it here, quick ! " 

The ant-bear had suddenly started to its feet ; 
but, before it had run twenty paces, Menito's fork 
caught it behind the shoulders and pressed it 
to the ground. Menito had to bear down with 
all his might to hold the little animal, but help 
was at hand. In spite of all his claws, Master 
Longnose was overpowered, and clapped into one 
of the wire prisons. While there was yet any 
chance of escape, the ant-bear had struggled in 
silence ; but, when it gave itself up for lost, it 
broke forth in a noise unlike anything we had 
ever heard before — a droning snort, I might call 
it, accompanied with fierce coughs and grunts, as 
if a band of hogs were mingling their music with 
the melodies of a buzz-saw. 

The shadows of the twilight began to 

spread through the forest when our 

little guide at last brought 

us to another creek, 

and seemed 


message confirmed my guess. " We 've got him," 
he shouted, running up in hot haste. "He 's down, 
going to fight us. Get your hatchet, Daddy : Men- 
ito says he can catch him with a forked stick. Oh, 
come on, Uncle, and see the fun ! " cried he s and as 
soon as wc had got the stick ready, the impetuous 
lad dragged me along until we came in sight of a 
strange scene. An animal about the size of a large 
badger lay flat on its back, flourishing its long nose, 
and poising its claws, ready for action. Rough, in 


inclined to push on into the darkening 

"That wont do," said Daddy Simon. "I can 
not hunt up water and fuel in the dark. We must 
camp here and cook our supper. " 

The young Lascar stared ; but, seeing us unstrap 
our blankets, he seemed to guess our intent, and 
helped us to gather a large pile of fire-wood. If 
there were any dry hills ahead, our little Indian 
had been right, though. We found that the 



GA/W^> ^E^^SfjJi^B 


ground was a spongy swamp, drawing water wher- 
ever we stamped it. So, instead of pitching our 
tent, we spread it like a big hammock, and fastened 
it between two poles and a large caucho-tree, whose 
hollow trunk formed a sort of roof. People going 
to camp in a tropical forest must not expect to be 
"lulled to sleep by the stillness of the night," as 
the northern poets say. In the Venezuela virgin- 
woods the time from sundown to midnight is 
almost the noisiest part of the twenty-four hours. 
Soon after dark, the oriyas, a species of whip-poor- 
wills, began to call to each other with a flute-like 
whistle ; night-hawks whirred through the tree-tops ; 
and from the depths of the jungle came now and 
then the scream of a larger bird ; it was the time 
when the ocelot leaves its hiding-place and visits 
the thickets and the roosts of the crested bush- 
cock. A strange buzz was in the air. Swarms of 
beetles and night-butterflies seemed to be on the 
wing, and from time to time we heard the click of 
a large bat, as its jaws closed upon one of the poor 
buzzers. But there are bats that do not content 
themselves with insects, and, before we fell asleep, 
I noticed a black object crawling over the white 

VOL. VIII.— 40. 

canvas of our hammock, and, slapping it with my 
hat, I recognized the squeaking chirp of a vampire, 
the Vampirus spectrum of the American tropics. 
Menito grabbed it just when it was about to take 
wing, and soon killed it. Whenever the night- 
wind stirred the woods, the trees above and around 
us flamed up with the glitter of a thousand lumin- 
ous insects, — fire-midges, fire-flies, and fire-locusts, 
— most of them apparently dozing in the foliage till 
the wind waked them, although there were mo- 
ments when they all seemed to join in a general 
torch-light dance, making the trees sparkle as if a 
shower of stars were drifting through the forest. I 
had been sleeping for an hour or two when Tommy 
shook me by the arm. 

"What can be the matter with our dog?" said 
he, with a yawn, and rubbing his eyes. " Did you 
ever hear such howling? There must be some- 
thing wrong ! " 

Rough had taken charge of our baggage at the 
foot of the tree, and, if there had been robbers or 
wild beasts about, he would have barked in a very 
different way. His voice sounded like the whining 
of a wolf — a most singular wailing howl, that might 




have made a person dream of witches and were- 
wolves. We hardly knew what to do. As soon as 
we tried to go to sleep and stopped talking to the 
dog, his howling grew worse than before. At last, 
we could not stand it any longer. 

"We have now only that one dog," said Tommy, 
" or I should ask you to shoot him. He must be 
crazy. What shall we do about it ? " 

"I don't know," said I; "but I would give 
something if we could go to sleep." 

"What will you give me?" asked Menito. 
"For half a dollar I will get him as still as a mouse. 
That dog is my countryman, and I do not want 
you to shoot him. Will you let me try?" 

"All right," I laughed. "Go ahead." 

Menito picked up his jacket and slipped down 
the tent-pole, and that was the last we heard of 
the were-wolf music. The next morning we found 
the two countrymen sleeping, cheek by jowl, at the 
foot of the tree. 

The birds in the tree-tops had almost finished 
their morning concert when the creatures of the 
lower woods were still half benumbed with the 
heavy dew, and as we made our way through the 
long, wet grass we could have captured bagfuls 
of iguanas and lizards, if there had been room for 
game of that sort. By and by, however, the 
warmth of the rising sun penetrated the under- 
brush, and all flying and creeping things were now 
wide awake. 

The young Lascar had led the way, a little 
faster than we could follow, until something or 
other seemed to draw his attention to a copse of 
tree-ferns at the road-side. He stopped, and, 
turning abruptly, grabbed me by the arm, looking 
as wild as a hawk. 

" Mira, mira!" cried he, in Spanish. "Look 

there, what a " but then followed a Lascarese 

word of about sixteen syllables; still, looking in the 
direction of the coppice, I thought that the length 
of the word really corresponded to that of a strange 
creature crawling swiftly across our path. For a 
stretch of about fifteen yards the herbs swayed up 
and down, but running up, with all guns cocked, we 
could find only a slimy streak in the grass ; the 
reptile must have moved with the swiftness of a 

"A boa!" cried Tommy. "Quick — there it 
goes, up the tree there ! You can see the boughs 

About twenty yards from the road stood a cluster 
of sago-palms, and at a considerable height from 
the ground their stems were joined and intertwisted 
with a maze of cordero-vines, but in the short time 
it had taken us to run up, the creature had actually 
forced its way through that mass of tangle-wood, 
and was now out of sight in the tree-top. Museum 

managers pay a high price for the skins of such 
large boas, and we tried to dislodge the monster 
by throwing stones and clubs against the lower 
branches, when Menito bethought himself of 
climbing a taxus-tree on the other side of the 

."Yes, I can see it now," he shouted. "Come 
up here — it is 'way up in that big palm-tree; you 
can shoot it down like a turkey." 

The lianas or bush-ropes of the Southern forests 
are a great help to climbers, and even old Daddy 
managed to follow us to the upper branches of the 
taxus-tree. Menito was right ; the boa had taken 
refuge in the top of the sago-palm, and seemed 
to have noticed us, to judge from its motions and 
the uneasy glittering of its little eyes. 

" Now let us try," said Tommy. " Do you think 
buck-shot will hit at that distance ? " 

"Yes, they will," said I, "but we must kill 
it at the first shot ; if it is only wounded, it will 
fling itself down and give us the slip, after all. 
Let us both aim at its head, and fire at the same 

But the boa now clung to the stem of the palm, 
with its head on the safe side, and we came near 
committing the imprudence of firing at the rear of 
its body, when old Daddy put his finger in his 
mouth and gave the shrill whistle of a Mexican 
muleteer. The boa started, and was still listen- 
ing, with its head held out erect, when our two 
guns went off together. Somehow or other we 
had both aimed a trifle too low ; but the buck-shot 
had done their work, and broken the monster's 
neck-bones in several places. It started back, and, 
suddenly reversing its coils, threw itself into the 
lower branches, and came plumping to the ground. 
There its struggles continued, and we could thank 
our good fortune that we were out of the way; 
the reptile was at least thirty feet long, and the 
tail-end of its body struck out left and right with 
a violence that made the branches fly in every 
direction. It took it nearly half an hour to die, 
and when it lay still, and our Indians came down 
and tied it to a tree to pull its skin off, the tail 
gave a twitch that made Menito take to his heels 
with a scream of horror. 

"Come back here, boy!" cried old Daddy. 
"There is no danger, I tell you — that boa is only 
shamming, trying to scare us ; in reality, it is as 
dead as a door-nail." 

Thus far our road had led us through swampy 
bottom-lands and densely wooded hillocks, but 
toward noon we found that the ground was getting 
rather rocky, and when the sun inclined to the 
west our guide halted on top of a steep emi- 
nence, and pointed to the open country at our 
feet. It was a glorious sight : the broad valley 




of the Orinoco, with its bays and rocky headlands, 
and at the mouth of a tributary stream the mission- 
settlement of Soledad, in a thicket of orchards and 

"That is the missionary's house, I suppose?" 
said I, pointing to a large stone building at the 
junction of the two rivers. 

" Yes, it used to be," said Daddy Simon. " The 
old government had put a Franciscan abbot in 
charge of the place, but the monks went away 
with the Spaniards, and the Indians have been 
left to themselves ever since." 

"How are they getting on?" I asked. "Their 
orchards seem to be in first-rate condition." 

" Oh, the trees take care of themselves," said 
the guide, " and the Rio Claro is full of fish the 
year round ; there is not much danger of starving 
in this country." 

The Rio Claro was a fine mountain-stream, with 
gravel banks, and we passed a place where the 
gravel had been piled up in mounds, some of them 
as much as twelve or fourteen feet high. "What 
is all this?" said I. "There have been gold- 
hunters at work here, it seems?" 

" Yes, treasure-hunters," said Daddy Simon. 
" Some years ago, a fisher-boy found here a silver 


cup and a piece of a golden chain, and it was sup- 
posed that this must be the place where the 
Spaniards had buried their treasure ; so a lot of 
people came up here from La Guayra in hopes of 
making fortunes. They found nothing but gravel, 
however, and it seems that the current of the river 
must have brought those things down here, and 
that the rest is buried somewhere farther 1 p." 

We stopped at the first cottage to inquire after a 
spring which old Daddy remembered to have seen 
near the banks of the Rio Claro. There was 
nobody at home but an old woman, who had nearly 
forgotten the language of the Spanish missionaries, 
but she understood what we meant when we pointed 
at the river and showed her our empty water- 
bucket. While she was jabbering away in her 
strange dialect, I noticed at the farther end of her 
porch a big cage full of little white things that 
seemed to move about like birds, till I came nearer 
and saw that they were rats — white and brown 
speckled tree-rats, looking somewhat like guinea- 
pigs, with long tails. Seeing me stare at the cage, 
the woman took it down and handed me a rat, with 
a sort of courtesy, as you would offer a stranger a 
flower or an orange. Tommy gave her a silver 
coin, about the equivalent of an American twenty- 
five-cent piece, whereupon we received five more 
rats — willy-nilly. The generous old lady would not 
be put off, and stuffed every one of them into one 
of our empty cages. 

"What makes them keep such strange pets?" 
asked Tommy. 

"They eat them," laughed old Daddy. "The 
old chief that lives in the big stone house fattens 
them by scores and hundreds. No proper person 
would touch such things ; but what can you expect 
from people that do not know a Sunday from a 

The Lascar Indians seemed, indeed, to be in 
need of a missionary. Man)' of the children we 
met in the street were entirely naked, and when we 
had pitched our tent at the river-bank, some of 
their grown-up relations visited us in the strangest 
costume we had ever seen on human beings. One 
big chief strutted around in a stove-pipe hat, with 
a pair of embroidered slippers for epaulets ; and a 
toothless squaw, looking old enough to be his 
grandmother, wore a boy's straw hat, with a bunch 
of parrot-feathers. Another woman, who could 
talk a little Spanish, was carrying a young child 
that looked as red as a boiled lobster, although 
her mother was almost too black to be called dark 

"What 's the matter, Sissy? " asked Tom. " Are 
you sick?" 

"Yes, sir; she has been steamed," said the 

"'Steamed? How do you mean ? " 

"Why," was the parent's answer, "we put her 
in a willow basket, and hung the basket over a 
kettleful of boiling water." 

" What did you do that for ? " I asked. "Were 
you trying to kill her ? " 

"No, to save her life," said the woman. " She 
was bitten by an aranon [a venomous spider], and 




that 's the best remedy. The poison seems to pass 
out through the skin with the perspiration." 

The arahon, or bird-eating spider of South Amer- 
ica, is almost as big as a toad, red-brown, with long, 
hairy legs and claw-feet, and a pair of venomous, 
pincer-like fangs. The strangest thing about its 
poison is that most persons hardly feel the bite at 
first ; but after an hour or so, their hands or feet 
begin to swell as if they had caught the erysipelas. 
The arafion often covers a whole bush with its gray- 
ish-white net, and catches birds as well as insects. 
The threads of its net are, indeed, as sticky as 
bird-lime, and strong enough to hold a good-sized 

We made a very good bargain that afternoon. 
The Indians gave us a splendid king-parrot and 
several purple pigeons, in exchange for a few pounds 
of sugar and gunpowder, and the parents of our 
young Lascar guide sold us a nursing Midas-mon- 
key, with a baby — a funny, nervous little young 
one that clasped his mother's neck as if he were 
trying to choke her. 

While we ate our supper, a swarm of Indian 
children of all ages and sizes had gathered around 
our camp, and, after playing with our rats and 
monkeys, they began to throw stones at a mango- 
tree near the river-bank. 

"What in the world can those children be 
after?" said I, seeing that they pursued their sport 
with a growing interest. 

" Hallo ! there is a big snake in that tree," said 
Tommy. " Not a boa, though," he added, when 
I jumped up. " It 's a long red one, like those we 
saw in southern Yucatan." 

A big coral snake lay coiled up in a fork of the 
tree, watching us with a pair of those glittering 
eyes that are supposed to paralyze birds and small 

"Make those boys stop, Tommy," said I. "Let 
us try an experiment. We can spare one of those 
white rats. I am going to see if the eyes of the 
snake will charm him." 

The rats were quite tame, and the one we se- 
lected clung to the knob of my walking-stick, and 
stuck to his perch until I brought the knob in close 
proximity to the head of the serpent. They looked 
at each other for five or six minutes ; but when 
the snake reared up, getting ready for action, the 
rat jumped back and slipped into my sleeve with 

the nimbleness of a weasel. A few days after, we 
tried the same thing with a different result. The 
snake paralyzed our rat with a snap-bite, and 
gobbled him up when he began to stagger around 
like a blind puppy. So we almost suspected that 
little animals have generally been bitten before 
they act in the strange way which makes people 
suppose that the eyes of a snake must have be- 
witched them. 

While we were watching the result of our experi- 
ment, one of the little boys fooled with the monkey- 
cage until the door came open, and, before we knew 
it, the Midas-monkeys jumped out, and would 
both have escaped if another boy had not caught 
them in the nick of time. But, in the scuffle, the 
old one dropped her baby, and, to our astonish- 
ment, the youngster whisked up an acacia-tree, 
with big, long thorns that prevented us from fol- 
lowing him. All calling and coaxing was in vain, 
and, when we found that we could not shake him 
off, we fastened his mother to a long string to see 
if we could not make her go up and bring him 
down. But, for some reason or other, she refused 
to go, and threw herself on her back like a wild-cat 
when we tried to drive her up. 

"Let us try Bobtail Billy," said Menito. "He 
likes to climb. I never saw him refuse a chance of 
that sort." 

We at once put Menito's suggestion into execu- 
tion, but it quickly proved almost too much of a 
success, for Billy bolted up the tree with a sudden- 
ness that nearly snapped the string. But, when he 
passed the baby, the little imp grabbed him, and 
in a twinkling had both arms around his neck. At 
the same moment, we pulled the string, and, 
though Billy struggled violently and snatched at 
the thorny branches left and right, the baby still 
stuck to him, resolved, as it seemed, to be skinned 
alive rather than lose this new protector fate had 
sent him. Down they came, locked together, 
and we dragged them to where the youngster's 
mother had been tied up in the interval. When 
she saw her bantling, she jumped up and made a 
grab at him ; but, in a strange fit of jealousy, Billy 
now declined to surrender his charge, and he was 
making for the tree again, when Menito stopped 
him, and put all three of them in the same wire 
basket, to let them settle their family quarrels at 
their leisure. 

(To be continued.) 




By Mary Graham. 

Kitty Brown was a nice little girl, but she 
had one fault; she never would remember to put 
down the piano-lid, when she had finished prac- 
ticing. Now, there were two reasons why it was 
important for her to remember this 
duty : one was, that the piano was 
very much afflicted with asthma, and 
it always grew worse if it took cold 
in any way. Another reason was, 
in case of visitors coming in. When 

:i //* 


the piano-lid was down, and the nice, pretty cover 
which Mrs. Brown had embroidered was spread 
over it, no one would have suspected that this piano 
was not just as good as any other in the city of 
Philadelphia. But if the lid was up, the visitor, 
whoever it might be, was sure to try to play on it, 
while waiting for Mrs. Brown to come down. Now, 
no one could really play on that piano but Mrs. 
Brown and Kitty, and the music-teacher, so that 
you may imagine any visitor's disappointment at 
finding, instead of the sweet musical sounds they 
were accustomed to at home, only a wheezy, asth- 
matic noise, and what the Brown family had long 
ago named the "rattle-bone accompaniment." 

"Kitty," said Mrs. Brown to her daughter one 
day, after she had been very much mortified by 
some of the comments of her visitors, about her 
piano; "Kitty, I am going to make some mince- 
pies next week, for Christmas, and I intend to 
give you some dough and mince-meat, to make a 

little turn-over for you and your friends ; but I shall 
only give it upon one condition." 

"Oh! Mother, Mother," answered Kitty, joy- 
fully. "You know J '11 do anything for you, if 
you really will let me make a turn-over out of some 
of your good dough and mince-meat." 

"But listen to the condition, Kitty: it is, that 
you will not forget, once, between this and then, 
to put down the piano-lid after you have finished 
practicing, — not once, remember ! " 

"That 's a very easy con- 
dition, I 'm sure, Mother, 
and I 'm certain to earn my 
little pie, if that is all I have 
to do to get it." 

' ' Very well ; now be sure 
and remember, after this, 
for if you forget once, you 
know what you forfeit." 

"Oh ! I '11 not forget," 
and away skipped Kitty, 
full of joy at the thought 
of her mother's kindness. 

That afternoon, she sat 
down to practice, and had 
it in her mind about clos- 
ing the piano, after her 
pretty soon she heard the 
sound of a street organ on the pavement outside, 
and she ran out to see if a funny little monkey, 
which had been there a few days before, had come 
again. Of course she did not stop to close the 
piano, for she fully intended to return in a few 
minutes, but sure enough, there was the monkey, 
performing all sorts of antics, and so long did it 
take her to watch him, and listen to the organ, and 
run up for some pennies, that she forgot all about 
the piano, until that evening at the tea-table her 
mother said to her, in a sorrowful tone of voice : 

"Now, Kitty, you've forfeited your little pie 
already ; you forgot to put the piano-lid down this 
afternoon. " 

" Oh-h-h-h ! so I did, but indeed, Mother, the 
monkey made me ; I should n't have thought 
of forgetting, if it had not been for him ; wont 
you please try me again ? I don't think I could 
possibly forget, to-morrow." 

"Well, I '11 try you again; 
must not forget it." 

The next day, Kitty sat down to the piano with the 
best intentions ; she was practicing very diligently, 

but this time you 




for she hoped to know "The Fairy Wedding Waltz" 
well enough to play it at the entertainment which 
was to be given in their school the day before 


Christmas. Neither her school-mates nor teachers 
would have been able to recognize what Kitty was 
playing, had they listened to her as she played it 
at home. But Kitty knew it was the very same 
that she had been playing on the school piano 
every day at recess for the last week or so. To be 
sure, it sounded very differently on her own 
asthmatic instrument, and with the rattle-bone 
accompaniment, but Kitty had it so well in her 
mind, and at her fingers' ends, that she could 
almost hear the tune of it as she played, although 
the part in which she ran up the piano with her 
forefinger could not be performed in such a 
grandiose manner as usual. Toward the end of 
her practicing hour, she heard the door-bell ring, 
and then when Hannah went to the door she could 
hear the voices of some of her little school-mates 
asking for her. She knew what an important errand 
they had come upon, and she rushed out to greet 

"You must go with us to choose Miss Colton's 
Christmas present," began Annie Peters, breath- 

"Oh, yes. I '11 be ready in a minute, if you '11 

just wait. Come up to the nursery and get warm. 
We have a splendid fire there in the grate. " 

Kitty had asked her mother's permission at 
dinner-time to go with her school-mates 
if they should come for her ; and, as Mrs. 
Brown was now out, there was no one to 
remind her about the piano, so that she 
never once thought of it again until tea-time. 
" Kitty," began Mrs. Brown, mournfully, 
"you have forfeited your little pie again. 
You know you were only to have it upon 
one condition, and that you have 
forgotten to fulfill." 

" So I have, Mother. But indeed 
I would not have forgotten, only for 
Annie Peters and the other girls 
coming for me. We really did 
have to go to choose Miss Col- 
ton's present. Wont you let 
me try once more ? Indeed, 
no matter who may come to- 
morrow, I shall be sure to re- 
member it." 

"Well, you may try just 
once more. But remember, 
you must not expect such a 
favor again. " 

" Oh, thank you, Mother!" 

The next day, a great 

many important things took 

place, and when Kitty sat 

down to practice, her mind 

was full of the events of the 

morning, so that she played her scales and pieces 

without thinking much about them. When her 

hour was up, she arose from her seat in a kind 

of day-dream, and walked deliberately out of the 

room, without thinking of closing the piano. 

That afternoon, some visitors came in, and Mrs. 
Brown, who was busy making mince-meat in the 
kitchen, could not come into the parlor imme- 
diately. The visitors, who happened to be very 
fond of music, took turns in trying to draw some 
out of the instrument ; but, one after another, they 
gave up in despair. 

" I should think Mr. Brown could afford to get 
something better than that for his wife and 
children ; you can buy a good piano for a mere 
song, now, at auction," said one of the visitors — I 
will not say ladies, for a perfectly well-bred person 
would not have made such a remark. 

At that moment, Mrs. Brown came into the par- 
lor, just in time to catch the last part of what her 
visitor had said. Of course, neither she nor the 
others enjoyed the interview very much, and she 
felt exceedingly vexed with her little daughter for 
again having been the cause of such annoyance to 




her. If Kitty had only left the piano closed, no 
one would have thought of doing anything to it 
but look at it, and in appearance it was very much 
like any other. Indeed, it had a pair and a half of 
very fine legs, and the pedal was quite respectable ; 
while as for the embroidered cover, there were few 
prettier ones on this side of the Atlantic. 

"And now, Kitty," said Mrs. Brown to her 
little girl, "you do not deserve that I should give 
you another chance. It is too bad that I should 
have suffered such mortification on account of your 

"Oh, Mother! I know I do not deserve another 
chance, but you 've often given me things I did not 
deserve, because you say we all, grown people and 
everybody, get more than wc deserve ; so, if you '11 
only let me try once more, I '11 not ask you again 
if I forget this time." 

' ' Well now, remember, this must be the very 
last time. No little pie for you to bake if you for- 
get to put the piano down between this and Mon- 
day, for that is the day I begin my baking. So 
you will only have to-day and to-morrow, for then 
comes Sunday." 

"Oh! thank you, dear, kind Mother, and do 

" I '11 remember," said Kitty, quite as sure as if 
she had the best memory, for a little girl, in the 

That afternoon, when Kitty was practicing, the 
door-bell rang, and some of her mother's friends 
were announced. 

Poor, anxious-hearted Mrs. Brown, with face 
very white, rushed in by one parlor door, hurried 
Kitty from her position, and closed the piano, just 
as the visitors entered by the other door. 

What a relief to Mrs. Brown, to know that she 
had succeeded in preventing any mortification to 
herself, for that afternoon ! And what a relief to 
Kitty, to know that she would not have to remem- 
ber any more for that day ! Only one more day, 
and then she would be sure of her turn-over for 
Christmas. She would ask her mother to let her 
invite her little friends to help her eat it on Christ- 
mas afternoon. 

The next day came, and Kitty felt sure she 
should not forget, this time. She practiced very 
diligently now, for in a few days they would have 
their school exhibition, and her music-teacher had 
told her she would have to know her piece a great 
deal better to play it before a room full of visitors, 


you think I could forget now, when you have been 
so 'leaning' with me?" She meant "lenient." 

"I don't know; but, if you do, you must not 
expect to bake any little pie ; remember that." 

than when she was only playing it to herself or 
some admiring friend. And so she played " The 
Fairy Wedding" over and over again, until she 
almost knew it with her eyes shut; then she played 


strawberries! ripe strawberries 


her scales to make her fingers limber, then she 
played the waltz, until she grew fairly tired, and 
every finger ached. 

Just as she was wondering whether it was time 
to stop, her father put his head into the parlor, 
and called her to him. It was such an unusual 
thing for him to be home so early in the afternoon, 
that she jumped up in joyful surprise and ran out 
to greet him. 

" Here, Kitty," he said, holding a large parcel 
in his hand, " if you know how to keep a secret, 
just hide this, until the night before Christmas : it 
is my present to your mother, and I don't want her 
to know anything about it until then." 

"Oh! I'll hide it in my closet: I know what 
it is, too ; a set of furs, is n't it ? " 

" Never mind — you 'd better not know, and then 
you can keep the secret better." 

Kitty ran up to her room, and hid the parcel, 
and, sad to say, never once thought of the piano 
until the next morning, when her mother said to 
her, solemnly : 

"Kitty, the piano was up all night, owing to- 
your carelessness : I was too busy to go in there 
last evening, but discovered it this morning. I fear 
the piano will take a very bad cold." 

" Yes — it is always cold in there at night," 
chimed in Mr. Brown, "and of course that is very 
bad for the asthma and rheumatism." 

" I fear you will not be able to recognize your 
piece for a few days," said Mrs. Brown, sadly; 
then, after a preparatory pause, " and of course, 
Kitty, you will not now expect your little pie." 

"Of course not " answered Kitty, meekly: 

then, in a few minutes, brightening up, she said : 
" But indeed, Mother, if you only knew what made 
me forget, this time, you would not be hard on me. 
Do you think she would, Father?" 

" S-s-h ! " said Mr. Brown, very much fearing 
that Kitty would not be able to keep his little secret 
for him. Then he said, hurriedly: " No, don't be 
hard on her, wife." 

" I don't really think I have been," replied Mrs. 
Brown; "but it seems to me Kitty ought to have 

something to make her remember — no, I don't 
think she need expect to bake her little pie." 

The next day, when Kitty came home from 
school, she found her mother in the midst of mak- 
ing her pies. She sat down in a corner of the 
kitchen, and watched her : it was so interesting to 
see the pieces of pastry which were cut off from 
each pie, as Mrs. Brown's deft fingers shaped them ; 
these were the pieces which Kitty had once hoped 
to profit by, but now she had no such expectations. 

Mrs. Brown looked over at her with eyes full of 

"Of course, Kitty," she began, "you do not 
expect to get any of this dough, nor any of this 

"No, Mother, of course I do not expect any; 
but you know you told me once that ' blessed are 
they that expect nothing ' because they shall not be 
disappointed ; and I should not be a bit disap- 
pointed if you should give me just enough to make 
a dear little pie for myself and Annie Peters, and 
Mamie Goodwin, and Alice Adams ; and if I could 
only have them here Christmas afternoon to help 
me eat it, I 'm sure I should never forget to put 
down the piano-lid again. You said I needed 
something to make me remember it, and I am sure 
this would, more than anything else I could think of. 
Of course I don't expect you to, and I will not even 
ask you, because I promised not to ask you again 
— but — oh ! you dear, kind, good leaning mother — 
is all that for me ? all that dough and that mince- 
meat ? I can make two turn-overs, and that will 
be a half a one apiece, and I am very, very sure I 
shall never forget to put down the piano-lid again : 
and now I must run up and get my little pie-board 
and pastry roller." 

And Kitty ran off with a light heart and with 
beaming eyes, feeling sure her mother would never 
have reason to be sorry that, after all her little 
girl's carelessness, she was going to let her bake 
her turn-over and have a good time at Christmas 
with her young friends. 

But do you think Kitty ever again forgot to put 
down the piano-lid ? 

Strawberries ! Ripe straw-berries ! ' 
Shouted big Johnny Strong; 

And he sold his baskets readily 
To folks who came along. 

But soon a tiny voice piped forth, 
"Me, too!" Nell could not shout 

As John did. Yet she too must sell 
The fruit she bore about. 

HO, STRAW-BERR-E-E-S ! " roared lusty John. 

•■Ms. too!" piped Nell, so sad. 
And Johnny made good sales that day, 

But Nell sold all she had. 



6 33 






Al.L who live in this favored land know the wealth 
of its lavish summer and rejoice that its " June may be 
had of the poorest comer " — June, with its songs, its 
roses, and its warm, swift breezes — and they will be 
ready to echo in their hearts every word of Lowell's 
beautiful verses which the Treasure-box offers you this 

You will find, as you see more and more of literature, 
that almost every good writer has his special line or 
style of writing, and has won fame by excelling in that 
special line. For instance, of modern authors, we speak 
of Thackeray, George Eliot, and Dickens as great 
novelists ; of Ruskin and Carlyle as great essayists or 
critics ; of Scott and Hawthorne as romancers ; and 
of Tennyson and Longfellow as poets. But now and 
then we find a man who, writing in all these ways, 
proves himself a master in each. Among the foremost 

of such writers is James Russell Lowell. He is poet, 
essayist, critic, humorist, all in one. For a long time, 
he was a professor in Harvard University; but, as many 
of you know, he is now — to the honor of his country 
— serving as American minister to England. 

Although Lowell has written almost entirely for grown- 
up readers, there is many a page of his works that 
would help you to appreciate good literature, and many 
a description or poem that would charm and delight you. 
For Lowell, with all his learning and deep thought, 
keeps himself forever young at heart, — as, indeed, do all 
true poets, — and his writings are full of the spirit and 
joy of youth and of youthful delight in life. This is 
shown clearly enough in the following short extract 
describing the sights and sounds of the happy month of 
June. It is taken from his noble poem, " The Vision of 
Sir Launfal " : 

A June Day. — By James Russell Lowell. 

And what is so rare as a day in June ? 

Then, if ever, come perfect days ; 
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, 

And over it softly her warm ear lays : 
Whether we look, or whether we listen, 
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ; 
Ever\' clod feels a stir of might, 

An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 
And, groping blindly above it for light, 

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers ; 
The flush of life may well be seen 

Thrilling back over hills and valleys ; 
The cowslip startles in meadows green, 

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, 
And there 's never a leaf nor a blade too mean 

To be some happy creature's palace ; 
The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 

Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, 
And lets his illumined being o'errun 

With the deluge of summer it receives ; 
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, 
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and 

sings ; 
He sings to the wide world, and she to her 

nest, — 
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best ? 

Now is the high tide of the year, 

And whatever of life hath ebbed away 
Comes flooding back, with a ripply cheer, 

Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; 
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, 
We are happy now because God wills it ; 
No matter how barren the past may have been, 
'T is enough for us now that the leaves are 

green ; 
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well 
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell ; 
We may shut our eyes, but we can not help 

That skies are clear and grass is growing; 
The breeze comes whispering in our ear, 
That dandelions are blossoming near, 

That maize has sprouted, that streams are 
That the river is bluer than the sky, 
That the robin is plastering his house hard by ; 
And if the breeze kept the good news back, 
For other couriers we should not lack ; 

We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing, — ■ 
And hark ! how clear bold chanticleer, 
Warmed with the new wine of the year, 

Tells all in his lusty crowing ! 

Just before June comes in with her peerless days, and 
while May still is awaiting her arrival, our people unite 
in doing grateful service to the many soldiers who fell in 
the late terrible national struggle known as our Civil 
War. They deck the crowded graves with flowers, and, 
while they recognize and mourn over the War as a great 
calamity, they love to remember the brave and true hearts 
who yielded up life for their country's honor and best 
prosperity. We cannot go into the story of the War, 

here. It is written in the great book of Human Life, 
with which you all shall, day by day, grow more familiar, 
and which even now you are reading in the light of your 
own homes. Enough for the Treasure-box, to say that 
every great country, at some period of its history, has had 
to fight for its existence ; and that, at such times, when the 
whole land is aglow with zeal and excitement, songs and 
utterances spring from the very heart of the hour and 
become forever a part of the nation's literature. Such an 




utterance is the selection we give you this month, — the in November, 1863, of the soldiers' burial-ground, on the 
renowned speech of Abraham Lincoln at the dedication, battle-field of Gettysburg: 

President Lincoln's Speech at Gettysburg. 

FOURSCORE and seven years ago, our fathers 
brought forth upon this continent a new nation, 
conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposi- 
tion that all men are created equal. Now, we are 
engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that 
nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, 
can long endure. We are met on a great battle- 
field of that war. We are met to dedicate a 
portion of it as the final resting-place of those who 
here gave their lives that that nation might live. 
It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do 
this. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, 
we can not consecrate, we can not hallow, this 
ground. The brave men, living and dead, who 
struggled here, consecrated it far above our power 

to add or to detract. The world will little note 
nor long remember what we say here, but it can 
never forget what they did here. It is for us, the 
living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfin- 
ished work that the)' have thus far so nobly car> 
ricd on. It is rather for us to be here dedicated 
to the great task remaining before us ; that from 
these honored dead we take increased devotion to 
the cause for which they here gave the last full 
measure of devotion ; that we here highly resolve 
that the dead shall not have died in vain ; that 
the nation shall, under God, have a new birth of 
freedom ; and that government of the people, by 
the people, and for the people, shall not perish 
from the earth. 

In connection with this grand and simple speech, 
you may fitly read, on " Decoration Day,'' the beautiful 
poem written by Judge Finch. It was inspired by a 
newspaper paragraph stating that, two years after the 

close of the War, the women of Columbus, Mississippi, 
had shown themselves impartial in their offerings made to 
the memory of the dead, strewing flowers alike on the 
graves of the Confederate and of the National soldiers. 

The Blue and the Gray.* — By F. M. Finch. 

By the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron have fled, 
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, 
Asleep are the ranks of the dead; — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; — 
Under the one, the Blue ; 
Under the other, the Gray. 

These in the robings of glory, 

Those in the gloom of defeat, 
All with the battle-blood gory, 
In the dusk of eternity meet; — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; — 
Under the laurel, the Blue ; 
Finder the willow, the Gray. 

From the silence of sorrowful hours 

The desolate mourners go, 
Lovingly laden with flowers, 

Alike for the friend and the foe ;— 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; — 
Under the roses, the Blue ; 
Under the lilies, the Gray. 

So, with an equal splendor, 

The morning sun-rays fall, 
With a touch impartially tender, 

On the blossoms blooming for all ; — 

Under the sod and the dew, 
Waiting the judgment day; — 

Broidered with gold, the Blue ; 
Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

So, when the summer calleth, 
On forest and field of grain, 
With an equal murmur falleth 
The cooling drip of the rain ; — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; — 
Wet with the rain, the Blue ; 
Wet with the rain, the Gray. 

Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 
The generous deed was done ; 
In the storms of the years that are fading, 
No braver battle was won ; — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; — 
Lender the blossoms, the Blue ; 
Finder the garlands, the Gray. 

No more shall the war-cry sever, 
Or the winding rivers be red ; 
They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of our dead! 
LInder the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ;- 
Love and tears for the Blue ; 
Tears and love for the Gray. 

* The Union or Northern soldiers wore blue uniforms ; the Confederate soldiers wore gray. 

6 3 6 




By William O. Stoddard. 

Chapter IV. 


JlM Swayne did not fail to make a full report 
to Fanny of his talk with Mr. Ayring. 

" I can bring along boys enough, too," he added, 
confidently; "but it wont do to be in too great a 
hurry. There are all sorts of talk about it among 
Madame Skinner's girls." 

Fanny would hardly have told even her brother 
how keen an interest she was beginning to take in 
the matter. 

She was a tall, showy-looking young lady, of full 
sixteen, and the slightly haughty expression of her 
mouth might have made some people think she 
would be above mingling with such an affair of 
mere boys and girls as a " May-Day Festival." 

She had been present the previous year, how- 
ever, and had now before her mind's eye a vivid 
picture of the crowded hall, with its brilliant lights, 
its hanging flags, its festooned evergreens, and its 
prodigal display of flowers. 

She remembered, too, the music, the applause, 
and how very beautiful Belle Roberts looked, march- 
ing in upon the stage with her maids of honor and 
her bowing retinue of young gentleman attendants, 
and she was sure in her heart that she could her- 
self exceed the triumphant success of that or any 
other "crowning." 

It was to be a "public appearance," as the 
central figure, the observed of all observers, the 
mark for, perhaps, two thousand pairs of admiring 
eyes, and the prospect of it thrilled her from head 
to foot. 

She had great confidence in James and his zeal 
and energy. Nothing could be better devised than 
the little plot of Mr. Ayring. The result seemed 
as sure as anything could be, but the flush of hope 
and gratified pride faded away from her cheeks as 
she muttered: "There 's nearly a week for some- 
thing to happen in. I may not be elected, after all." 

The Park girls were not planning her election, 
when so many of them gathered, after school, in 
the parlor of the Roberts's dwelling. 

They talked of many candidates, but there was 
one street, not far below the Park, beyond which no 
suggestion of theirs had big enough wings to fly. 

"Beyond that," as one of them said, "all the 
girls go to Madame Skinner's." 

No amount of grace or beauty could make up 

for such a misfortune, as long as there were any 
Park girls to choose from. 

There did once rise a faint voice with: "What 
if they should set up Fanny Swayne ? " 

"She?" exclaimed Dora Keys. "Why, she's 
too old. She was graduated from boarding-school 
last year. She '11 be out in society in a season or 

Belle Roberts had been barely fourteen when 
the May diadem had fallen upon her glossy brown 
hair, but she was a year older now, and her friends 
seemed still to regard her as a sort of queen-model 
to go by. 

It was not long, therefore, with Dora's help, 
before a second line of exclusion was formed, as 
fatal to candidates as was the cross street this side 
of Madame Skinner's school. 

The number " fifteen " began to have a kind of 
magic, and the girls who could not show a birthday 
with those figures upon it were pitilessly set aside 
as too young. 

Half of the present company and a larger frac- 
tion of their absent school-mates were under the 
mark, and the problem was made more simple by 
having just so many girls less to pick from. 

Old age was as fatal as extreme youth, and 
"sixteen, going on seventeen " was also ruled out 
by common consent. 

Dora had a kind heart, and she could but put 
her plump, white hand on the shoulder of pretty 
Jenny Sewell, and whisper: "You may have a 
chance next year, darling." 

Belle Roberts overheard it, and added, in her 
frank, smiling way: " Yes, Dora dear, and you '11 
be a year too old, then." 

" I 'm just barely fifteen now." 

" But you could pass for more and not half try." 

" I don't mean to try." 

The young lady "caucus" was even more ani- 
mated than that of the boys had been, but there is 
an old proverb in the army that ' ' a council of war 
never fights." They could not and did not agree 
upon any one candidate, and so Belle had to tell 
Jack after they had gone. 

" No candidate ! " he exclaimed. " Now that 's 
funny. It must be that they all want it." 

"They all said they did n't, — all but Dora 

"She did n't, eh ? She would n't make a bad 
queen, if once she were upon the platform. The 
trouble is, she '11 never get there." 


6 37 

" You could n't make her believe that." 
*" She 'd better, then. She 's a year too old and 
a head too tall." 

" How would Jenny Sewell do ?" 

" Capitally, if Bob Sewell were not so high and 
mighty. The boys 'd vote for her, may be, but 
they wont want to set him up any higher." 

" Making her queen would n't make him king." 

" He 'd look at it that way. He feels bigger 
than the mayor now, and he is n't twenty." 

" I don't see whom you can take, then, unless 
it 's Sarah Dykeman." 

" She 'd do splendidly, if you could get her to 
take it." 

" Don't you think she would ?" 


" Did n't she say she would n't ? " 

" Well, yes; she said so " 

"Then she wont. That's just the difference 
between her and the rest. She and Dora Keys 
are honest." 

" She 's worth ten of Dora." 

" Of course she is, but Dora can't keep in any- 
thing she thinks about herself." 

" She thinks a good deal, then." 

It was all said good-humoredly enough. 

Dora had gone home with a growing con- 
viction that her prospects were bright, and getting 
brighter. " Not one of them said anything against 

my running. They '11 have to vote for me or else 
it '11 be one of Madame Skinner's girls." 

That night, Dora had as vivid a dream as had 
Fanny Swayne, herself, of standing on a brilliantly 
lighted platform, before a vast, enthusiastic crowd, 
and with a crown of roses on her head. 

Fanny, indeed, had gone one step farther, for 
she had dreamed so vividly, while she was yet 
wide awake, that she had pulled out from its hiding- 
place the pretty white dress she had worn at her 
" graduation," and had decided upon what it would 
need to turn it into a royal "coronation robe." 

"The train will be the main thing," she said. 
'• It must be long enough for six maids of honor to 
hold it up, — three on a side. The end of it must 
fall to the floor behind them, with lilies on it. Yes, 
the skirt can be lengthened, easily, and it is n't 
very expensive stuff. I '11 have a prettier scepter, 
too, than Belle had. Hers was far too big and 
clumsy. It looked as if it weighed a pound." 

Jim had been hard at work, and he had made 
his report. 

"Candidates? Oh, they're all talking about 
everybody. They don't seem to have fixed on any 
one name yet." 

" But the Park set ?" asked Fanny. 

" Not a word. Some of our boys think they 
must have heard of what Mr. Ayring said, and 
mean to give it up. They know they can't do 
anything against him, with all the town to help 

Chapter V. 


Jeff Carroll was a quiet, near-sighted, care- 
less sort of fellow, with a strong tendency to chuckle 
over the things close up to which his short vision 
compelled him to bring his face. 

It was not often, however, that his chuckle 
seemed to have a deeper meaning in it than when 
he and Will Torrance came together, half an hour 
before school-time, in the morning. 

Will was a character, in some respects, com- 
bining a queer disposition to write poetry with a 
liking for fancy poultry, and an ambition to be the 
champion athlete of his set. He was, as yet, a 
good deal more of a wrestler than of a poet. 

He and Jeff were great cronies, and his entire 
boy rose within him to inquire the meaning of that 

"Can you keep a secret, Will?" 

"I can try. What 'sup?" 

" Old Ayring 's going to have the May Queen 
election come off next Tuesday evening." 

"Everybody knows that." 




" And I know whom he 's going to have 

" How did you find out ? " 

" He 's having some voting tickets printed in our 
office, on the sly. I saw the proof this morning, 
on Father's desk." 

"You don't say!" 

"Guess who it is." 

" Can't do it. Some one of Madame Skinner's 
girls, I suppose." 

" Not a one. Guess again." 

" Give it up. Unless he 's chosen me?" 

" It 's Fanny Swayne ! " 

"She 's pretty enough, and would make a good 
queen. Is n't she too old, though ? " 

" He does n't care, as long as his show goes off 
to suit him." 

" But Jim would be proud as a peacock." 

"We wont let him, Will. Let you and I elect 
a May Queen of our own." 

"You and I? Why, we count but two votes. 
Some of the boys might go with us, if the girls 
would let 'em ; but I don't believe you and I have 
much influence with the girls." 

" We don't need any. But I 've picked out our 
queen, if you 're agreed to try it." 

"One 's as good as another, for me, if it is n't 
Dora Keys, or Bob Sewell's sister, and if she 's 
pretty enough and is n't too old." 
■ " Did you ever see Milly Merriweather, Pug's 
sister ? " 

"Lots of times, but I never spoke to her. 
It seems to me the girls rather snub her." 

' ' She 's a quiet little thing, and the older girls 
just lord it over one of that kind. I tell you what, 
Will, that 's the very reason we ought to elect her. 
But we must n't breathe it." 

" We must ask her if she '11 consent." 

"Not a word of it. She 'd say no, of course, 
and spoil it all. The first thing she knows of it 
must be her election. It must be a regular sur- 
prise, all around." 

" It '11 be a tre-mendous surprise to me, for one." 

" No it wont. You come down town with me, 
after school. I '11 show you. It 's time to go in, 
now. Not a word to any of the boys. " 

The young politician blinked his gray eyes 
merrily and walked away in a fit of chuckles that 
seemed almost to choke him. 

Will Torrance not only scribbled no poetry that 
morning, but he actually earned a bad mark in 
geometry, which was his especial stronghold, next 
after chickens. It was dreadfully severe on a boy 
of fourteen to have a big secret to keep and only 
know one-half of it, himself. 

Even when the hour of noon recess came, Will 
was unable to obtain any consolation from Jeff. 

That worthy did but blink at him in a most bar- 
barous way and keep himself surrounded by a per- 
petual body-guard of the other boys, in whose 
quick-eared presence no secret could be safely 
hinted at. 

They were all "talking May Queen" but not 
one of them spoke of Milly Merriweather. 

"We shall be like a pair of mittens," growled 
Will. " Only just two of us. It '11 take more 
than that to elect her." 

Nothing unusual occurred in school, that after- 
noon, but the moment he reached the sidewalk 
at the close of it, all of Jeff Carroll's indifference 

" Come on, Will. I 've got it all worked out. 
Let 's get away before any of the rest hang on." 

Will was ready, and away they went, down 
town, at a pace that was almost a trot. 

All the answer Jeff would give to any questions, 
was : 

" It 's all right. You '11 see." 

He paused, at last, before the shop of a thriving 
dealer in cheap literature and stationery. 

That is, he did not so much pause as plunge in, 
and in half a minute more he was asking Will's 
opinion of a large assortment of embossed "cards" 
of staring colors, such as were greatly used for ad- 
vertising purposes. 

"Don't they blaze?" 

" They 're as big as my hand." 

"Well, pretty nearly," said Jeff, chuckling. 
"But they 're four times as big as the tickets old 
Ayring is having printed for Fanny Swayne's elec- 
tion. Don't you see the dodge, now ? " 

"I begin to. Every single small boy in the 
chorus will take one of these for a ticket, sooner 
than one of the little white ones." 

"That 's it." 

" And that is n't all of it, Jeff." 

" What more, then ? " 

"Every one of them '11 keep your pretty card," 
objected Will, "and put Ayring's ugly one in the 

"We must make them trade with us, where we 
can. They '11 do it. And every chick and child 
of 'em must have two. One to vote and one to 

Jeff's electioneering powers were fit to make 
an alderman of him, some day, and he and Will 
divided between them the not very heavy cost 
of three hundred of the most extraordinary paste- 
boards in the stationer's stock. 

" Now where, Jeff? " 

"Where? Why, to our job-printing office. Old 
McGee, the foreman, is a pet of mine. He '11 
print Milly's name on the cards in bronze-gilt let- 
ters, bright enough to dazzle the little fellows." 




Jeff had not at all overestimated his influence 
with the rotund and jolly-looking f ' reman, and it 
only needed a hint of what was up, to insure the 
most absolute secrecy. Anything in the way of 
election tickets was a direct appeal to the heart and 
conscience of Corny McGee. 

" Now, Will, we must keep perfectly silent about 
this. We 're the only party in this election that 
knows just what it 's about." 

Jeff knew that his friend could do far better than 
he could, in rallying active supporters. However, 
Jim Swayne and Mr. Ayring could have named 
another "party" that knew what it meant to do 
and how it meant to do it. 

The next day was Saturday, and the boys of Mr. 
Hayne's school, as well as those of the Wedgwood, 
were scattered far and wide by the customary holi- 
day duties of young gentlemen of their age. 

There were several games of base-ball that needed 
to be played, and other affairs of equal importance 
to be attended to, and Will Torrance had a trip of 
two miles to make into the country, after a remark- 
able pair of Bantam fowls. 

Jeff "stood by his guns." 

That is, he stood as a sort of sentinel at Corny 
McGee's elbow until the last of that lot of gorgeous 
cards fell from the printing-press, with the name of 
"Amelia Merriweather " printed thereon in full, 
readable type, and the apprentice in attendance 
had powdered the same to brightness with a sift of 
glittering bronze. 

If any small boy or girl could be proof against 
the power of such an attraction as that, Jeff felt 
that he should lose his confidence in juvenile 
human nature. 

That Saturday was a day of trial among the 
young ladies. 

There were endless "caucuses" but no "con- 
ventions," and no one of the several gatherings 
knew what the others might be doing. 

Late in the day a direful rumor began to spread 
among the girls who had brothers, or whose friends 
had brothers, at the Wedgwood school, to the 
effect that Jim Swayne had pledged six of the best 
boys there to help him elect his sister. 

" Fanny is to be a candidate, then ! " came from 
many lips. 

Fanny could have obtained a larger idea of her 
age, if not of her other qualities, if she could have 
listened to all the comments called out by that 
little piece of news, as it traveled so fast among the 
girls of Saltillo. 

The next day was Sunday, and of course the May 
Queen business was dropped, but Monday could 
fairly have been described as "busy." So busy, 
in fact, that by sunset the confusion was worse than 
ever in all the camps and councils but those of Mr. 

Ayring and Jim Swayne, and of Jeff Carroll and 
Will Torrance. 

It is possible that Dora Keys imagined herself a 
camp and council or something of the sort, for at 
least a dozen of the smaller girls had said, or had 
allowed her to say without any contradiction, that 
her chances were as good as those of any other girl 
around the Park. 

Belle Roberts asked her brother, at supper, what 
he thought of Dora's chances. 

" That 's just what I have n't been doing, Belle." 

" Don't you think she has any ? " 

" There 's no telling where the lightning may 
strike. But I think she 's safe. The fact is, Belle, 
the Wedgwood boys and old Ayring are going to 
be too much for us, this time." 

It looked a good deal like it, and the Park boys 
came together, on the morning of the decisive 
Tuesday, with despairing hearts. 

That suited the shrewd mind of Jeff Carroll 
exactly, for they would be ready to bite at any kind 
of chance for a victory. 

He worked with care, nevertheless, and only ex- 
plained his plan of battle to a select few, under 
tremendous pledges of secrecy. 

One after another, Charley Ferris, Otis Burr, 
Jack Roberts, and Joe Martin were engaged as 
lieutenants under the generalship of Will Torrance, 
with Jeff himself for what the army men call a 
" chief of staff," which means the man who knows 
more than the general, but does not wish to say so. 

" You see, boys," said Jeff, " our best hold will 
be among the little chaps, just where Ayring 
means to get his. He means to have them all 
supplied with tickets and their votes put in, before 
the older girls and boys are ready. If he knew 
what we are up to, he might do something to head 
us off." 

The idea that they were working out a myste- 
rious plot supplied all the added energy required, 
and by tea-time on Tuesday evening every boy of 
them was a good deal more than ready. 

The drilling for the vocal music of Mr. Ayring's 
annual " festival " had been going on quite success- 
fully for several weeks, and it was a capital "sing- 
ing-school" for the rank and file of the " chorus." 

It would now be necessary to have the older per- 
formers in training, and so the time for choosing 
them had fully come. 

When Will Torrance looked in, that evening, at 
the door of the " lecture-room " of the Presbyterian 
church, where the drills were held and the election 
was to take place, he exclaimed : 

" Jeff, there are more 'n two hundred voters, but 
we 've tickets enough to go 'round. There '11 be 
a good many who wont want 'em, so we shall have 
two apiece for the rest." 




The "pretty tickets" had already been divided 
among the active workers, to whose ranks five or 
six more of the Park boys could now be safely 

The best reenforcement of all came at the very 

" Pug ! — Pug Merriweather, come here ! " loudly 
whispered Jack Roberts to the head-center of all 
the noise there was in his part of the room. 

" What have you got for me? " 

"Come here. We 're going to elect your sister 
May Queen. Make every boy and girl you can get 
at, vote one of these tickets. If they have little 
white tickets, get them to exchange them for one 
of these. Give 'em two apiece, and they can vote 
one and keep the other." 

" If they don't, I '11 make it hot for 'em ! " 

His little hands were filled with. the gaudy paste- 
boards and his keen black eyes were all a-sparkle 
with delight and energy. 

"Look at him, Will," exclaimed Jack. "A 
wasp in a sugar-barrel is nothing to him." 

Even after Mr. Ayring called the meeting to 
order, and all were listening to his business-like 
statement of what they were to do, Pug was slip- 
ping slyly along from seat to seat, till his tickets 
were out and he had to come back for more. 

Mr. Ayring's own plan called for prompt action, 
with no useless time given to be wasted on writing 
out tickets or in "electioneering," a thing he had 
said something against in his opening remarks. 

In less than five minutes after the appointment 
of four young gentlemen to act as "tellers," and 
plv their hats as "ballot-boxes," a good share of 
the voting had been "completely done." 

Not a few had written ballots ready, and pencils 
and paper were busy, but there were signs of excite- 
ment speedily visible among the Wedgwood boys. 
Dora Keys herself handed Jim Swayne one of the 
colored tickets, although she did not drop one like 
it into his hat. 

" Sarah," exclaimed Belle, " this is the work of 
our boys. W 7 e must help them. Pass the word 
among as many girls as you can. Will Torrance?" 
— he was passing her just then — " Can't you let us 
have some tickets ? " 

" Here they are. If you girls '11 help, we 're sure 
to win." 

The "surprise" part of Jeff Carroll's plan 
worked to a charm. 

Half the small-fry in the room had voted, before 
an effort could be made to check the sudden and 
unexpected flood of those very brilliant ballots. 

If Mr. Ayring was vexed he did his best not to 
show it ; but the color of Jim Swayne's face be- 
trayed the disturbed condition of his mind. 

Pug Merriweather was everywhere. 

"Jeff," said Will, "that little piece of quick- 
silver is worth both of us put together." 

They and their friends were by no means idle, 
however, during that exciting quarter-hour. 

Poor Milly Merriweather sat among some of her 
friends, with a staring green ticket in her lap, 
hardly knowing whether to blush or to run away. 

Otis Burr and Jim Swayne met in front of Mr. 
Ayring's desk, in their capacity of tellers, at the 
moment when it was announced that "the polls 
are closed." 

" It 's a regular trick ! " exclaimed Jim. 

"And of a shrewd kind," calmly responded the 
red-haired boy; "but you did n't make it work 
well. How does your hat feel ? " 

The other hats came swiftly in, and the tickets 
were piled in a great heap in front of Mr. Ayring. 
It looked as if the counting them would be a mere 
matter of form, but for form's sake it had to be 

"Two hundred and fifty-three votes cast. I 
should hardly have thought there were so many in 
the room," said Mr. Ayring. 

It was too late to count the voters present, how- 
ever, and the separate count began. 

For a few minutes, Jim Swayne's face grew a little 
more cheerful, for the white tickets were pretty 
numerous, though not making so much of a show, 
and there were a good many scattering votes writ- 
ten with pen and pencil. 

Tally was made after tally, and now the Merri- 
weather strength began to show itself, as the big 
tickets heaped up in a larger and larger pile. 

Then, at last, came a moment when you could 
have heard a pin drop, although nobody took the 
trouble to drop one. 

Mr. Ayring slowly arose to announce the result 
of the voting. 

He drew a good long breath, for it was not 
what he had expected to read, when he had come 
there, early that evening. 

" Miss Frances Swayne has received eighty-three 
votes ; Miss Alice Bridge, seventeen ; Miss Dora 
Keys, five ; there are twenty-one votes scattered 
among other candidates ; Miss Amelia Merri- 
weather has received one hundred and twenty- 
seven votes, and is elected, by a majority of one 
over all competitors." 

The Park boys cheered and stamped ; all the 
children under twelve did their best to make the 
noise louder, and if there were any tokens given 
of discontent, vocal or otherwise, they were com- 
pletely drowned. 

" We shall now proceed with the other exercises 
of the evening," continued Mr. Ayring, "but I 
shall be happy to confer with Miss Merriweather 
at the close. I will add that, in my opinion, you 




have shown excellent taste and good judgment in " Well, I don't know which side was most sur- 

your selection." prised. On the whole, I think it was M illy 

Milly Merriweather hid her face in her hands, herself." 
but the girls crowded around to congratulate her, "She '11 get over it." 


the Park boys raised a tempest of applause, and 
Jeff Carroll whispered to Will Torrance : 

"We 've done it, old fellow. See ! Pug Merri- 
weather is trying to stand on his head ! " 

Chapter VI. 


There was not a single boy of Mr. Hayne's 
school in danger of being late on the morning after 
the May Queen election. 

Even Andy Wright was one of the earliest on 
the ground, and his first remark was to Otis Burr: 

"I 've heard that you had a kind of surprise 
party last night ? " 

VOL. VIII.— 41. 

"That 's more than Jim Swayne will. I say, 
Will Torrance ! you 've cut out a job for yourself." 

" What kind of job ? " 

"Oh, Jim Swayne and the rest of 'em lay it all 
to you." 

"Jeff Carroll deserves more credit than I do." 

"All right. We 'II give him the, honors; and 
you may take the rest for your share." 

That had not been WilFs first intimation that the 
wrath of the defeated party was gathering upon 
him. Even Jeff Carroll had said to him, with a 
chuckle: "Jim says he '11 make you eat one of 
those tickets, Will." 

And Charley Ferris had put on a terribly pug- 
nacious look in declaring: "Don't let'em scare 
you, Will. I '11 standby you." 




There was not a shadow of doubt that he would, 
either, nor of the sincerity of all the rest, one after 
another, in echoing his heroic declaration. The 
school would be as one man, or boy, in t.:t affair of 
that sort. At the same time it was not likely that 
more than half a dozen of their rivals felt badly 
enough about it to do more than bluster. 

They were talking very big, indeed, over at the 
Wedgwood, that morning, although Jim Swaync 
himself did not appear until just as the bell rang, 
and then he did not look as if he were anxious 
to talk to anybody. 

He had, in fact, done quite enough of mere talk- 
ing the previous night, both before he went home 
and after he got there. 

He even felt hurt at Mr. Ayring himself for his 
very calm and smiling way of treating the matter. 

"To think," said Jim to his sister, "of his 
laughing about it as if it were a good joke of some 

There were many persons besides the music- 
teacher who were able to see a funny side to such a 
performance, and it was quite as well they were, for 
the sake of good feeling and the success of the 
" festival." 

The girls of Madame Skinner's were hardly dis- 
posed to make merry, and their dignified "princi- 
pal " did not refer to the election at all in her 
"morning remarks." Her pupils did, very freely, 
and so did the young ladies at Miss Offerman's. 
Of course these were all pleased, and said so, and 
many of them were able to add: "I voted for 
Milly. She '11 make a capital May Oueen." 

Dora Keys was a good deal mystified, at first. 
She said to herself, and afterward to others : 

"I never so much as heard Milly's name men- 
tioned ; and the)- certainly talked of me. Every 
ticket I wrote out was voted, too. It must be, — 
that 's it. It was those hideous printed tickets. 
There were more of them to be put in and so they 
put them in. The children were crazy to get them. 
I never thought as far as that." 

The remaining interest in connection with the 
May Festival would be in the selectien of the 
'"court," and in that, at least, Mr. Ayring was 
pretty sure to have almost everything to say. 

The Park boys knew that some of them would be 
chosen, but that a good many more would not, and 
it may be the)' were all the better pleased over a 
new excitement that sprang up among them at the 
noon recess. 

" I say, Joe Martin," began John Derry, "what 
is this about Friday afternoon ? " 

" Declamation and composition. Every boy will 
have to try. One thing or the other. Each 
week. " 

" I '11 speak, then. What '11 you try for, Jack? " 

"Have n't you heard? It 's Jeff Carroll's- 

"He 's always up to something. What is it, 
this time ? Going to elect a queen every Friday?" 

" No, — sir ! — It 's newspapers." 

" 1 '11 bring one " 

" Bring one ! Every boy that wants to can get 
up one of his own and read it." 

" But my father does n't own a printing-office. 
Does yours ? " 

" We 're to write them, — editorials and all." 

" Look here, Jack," interrupted Otis Burr. 
"Don't you think I look a little like Horace 

" Can't say you do." 

"I feel like an editor of some kind, anyhow. 
I 'm going to start the ' Weekly Plunger. ' " 

" Mine '11 be the ' Journal,' " said Charley Ferris. 
" Andy has his ' Review' half written. Joe Martin's, 
will be the ' Register.' It '11 be big fun." 

The plan seemed to grow in popular interest 
every minute, but one o'clock came upon them 
before half of the proposed "periodicals" were 
even named. 

The boys were hardly in their seats before they 
began to find out that Mr. Hayne himself had 
been thinking of the matter, for he made them a 
little speech about it. 

The papers met with his approval, but once in 
two weeks would be often enough for them. Half 
the pupils each week. The editors were to be 
orators one Friday and writers the next. He would 
give them no sort of advice now, but wait and see 
how they would succeed. All who could be ready 
by the next Friday would be welcome to read. 

It was a serious piece of business, but the boys 
could see that there was fun to come. 

"Wont I report 'em?" remarked Jeff to his 
crony, after school. 

" I Ye poetry enough on hand to run my paper 
all summer." 

" That wont do, Will. Just a little of it, may 
be. Can't you give us a leader on chickens ? " 

" Perhaps I could. And I have another idea in 
my head. It 's a Ramblers' Club." 

"What 's that?" 

"Oh, you and I, and as many as want to, go 
somewhere in the country, every Saturday. We 
could get up some yarns about it." 

" And have fun, too. I 'm in for it. Let 's go, 
next Saturday." 

" But, Jeff, shall you have a newspaper ready by 
Friday ? " 

" Oh, wont I ? You '11 see ! " 

Jeff could not be induced to divulge anything- 
more about his plans, but Will felt sure there was. 
something of interest coming. 




As for the rest of the boys, neither that day, 
after school, nor the next, was there any attention 
paid to leap-frog, base-ball, pull-away, or any 
other of their customary affairs. 

On the contrary, there was a general scattering 
toward home, the moment they got out of the 

"They're all editing, Mr. Hayne," remarked 
John Derry to the teacher, when he found himself 
alone on the sidewalk, and was asked where the 
rest were. " I 'm the only orator left, this week. 
I '11 be ready, sir." 

He said it soberly enough, but Mr. Hayne knew 
something of boys, and he felt sure his young 
friend would bring as much as anybody to the 
Friday's entertainment. 

John Derry was always ready to do his share of 
anything he liked, and although he could not say 
he liked "declamation," when it took the shape 
of work, it was quite another thing when it could 
be made to look like mischief. 

So he, too, went home and did his best, even 
carrying a big book of "rhetorical selections" 
up into the garret of his father's house, and very 
nearly missing his supper. 

"They '11 do it," remarked Mr. Hayne, to him- 
self, as he walked along. "They'll get more 
practice out of it than they would from any amount 
of mere grammatical exercises. If I can keep 
them at it, there 's no telling how much they may 

All the while, too, they would be doing their 
own driving, and that was a grand thing, of itself. 

Thursday and the forenoon of Friday were 
crammed full of reserve and mystery. 

The disposition to talk seemed to have vanished, 
and every editor in the school was as solemn as a 
young owl, over the intended contents of his " first 
number." The excitement was not less on that 
account, and for once the hour between twelve 
o'clock and one seemed altogether too long for 

" Jeff," said Will, " do you know who 's to read 
first ? " 

" No. Perhaps Mr. Hayne '11 call the roll and 
have us read in turn." 

" Then I 'm away down the list and you '11 come 
next after Ote Burr." 

" Ote has something queer. He came within 
half an inch of laughing when I asked him about it." 

" Did he ? — There goes the clock. Come on." 

Mr. Hayne was as calm and smiling as usual, 
and the boys half envied him his power of keeping 
cool under such exciting circumstances. 

He had very little to say, however, seeming dis- 
posed to treat the Friday performance just like any 
other day's proceedings. 

" As we have but one exercise in declamation, 
young gentlemen, we shall begin with that. Mr. 
John Derry." 

John was ready and marched gravely forward to 
the platform. There was a faint flush on his face, 
but nobody could tell whether it arose from bash- 
fulness or something else. He gave a low bow 
to Mr. Hayne, another to the school, and then 
launched boldly out into Daniel Webster's great 
speech in reply to Colonel Hayne, of South Caro- 
lina. The boys all knew bits and slices of it, and 
thought John had made a good selection. That 
is, if he meant nothing personal to the Mr. Hayne 
he had just bowed to. 

Up to that time, not one of his boy friends had 
dreamed how good a memory John Derry really 
had, but they began to know something about it, 

Any other boy would have thought six inches of 
that speech quite enough for once, and been glad 
to get through and sit down. 

Not so John Derry, on the present important 
occasion. He was to be the only speaker, and he 
had made up his mind that there should be speak- 
ing enough — as much as if a dozen boys had taken 
the business in hand, instead of one. 

On he went, speaking more and more slowly, 
but never missing a word, until even Mr. Hayne 
himself looked at him with a queer sort of sur- 
prised smile on his face. 

There could be no doubt of the hard work it had 
cost to get John Derry ready for such a feat as that, 
but all the editors he was addressing wished more 
and more strongly every minute, that his memory 
would fail him. 

Would he — could he — go on in that way all the 
afternoon ? They were afraid he would. And then 
what would become of the newspapers ? 

The thought of not reading them grew dreadful, 
and John was talking more slowly yet, and going 
straight on, when Mr. Hayne suddenly spoke : 

"That will do, Mr. Derry." 

" Not half through, sir." 

"I know it. Any editor in the room is at 
liberty to publish the rest of it. You may sit 

John's effort to look dignified, as he bowed him- 
self off the platform, came near setting the school 
into a laugh, but Mr. Hayne promptly announced: 

"The Park 'Review' will now be read by Mr. 
Andrew Wright." 

"Beginning at the wrong end of the roll-call," 
grumbled Otis Burr, but Andy rose in his place 
and lifted from his desk several sheets of paper, 
neatly fastened together at the top with red tape. 

" Remain where you are, Mr. Wright," said Mr. 
Hayne, and the reading began. 




First came what the editor called a "prospectus," 
or, as John Derry said afterward : 

" That means a ' what I 'm going to do.' " 

It was by no means long, and it was followed 
by a very well written " leader" on the general 
subject of " boys." There were two " book- 
notices," and a conundrum, but it had evidently 
not occurred to Andy to bring in any " fun." On 
the whole, every one of the other editors was glad 
when it was finished, if only for the sad conviction 
he had that the "Review" would get the habit of 
being the best edited paper in the whole school. 

"Mr. Jefferson Carroll will now read 'The 
Spy,'" said Mr. Hayne. 

" Skipping all around," was Otis Burr's mental 
comment, as a faint chuckle came to his ears from 
Jeff's desk. Jeff was promptly on his feet. Not 
a breath of anything like a "prospectus" opened 
"The Spy." 

Instead thereof, began a high-sounding essay on 
the great question of " How did the cow get into 
the Park ? " and this was followed by a vivid 
"report" of the May Queen election. Jeff was 
wise enough not to speak of any of the young 
ladies by their real names, but the boy politicians 
were described as acting under the leadership and 
direction of the great Pug Merriweather. Not one 
of them escaped a good taking off, the several 
criticisms upon them being set down as coming 
from the wise lips of Pug. 

As Jeff himself declared, editorially, his list of 
"local items" would have been longer if he had 
been given more time to gather them. 

Otis Burr was almost taken by surprise in being 
called upon next, for the "Plunger." 

His face was as red as his hair when he arose, 
but it almost instantly grew solemn as he began 
to read a stirring account of the "Fight for a 
cocoa-nut," in which Jack Roberts was made to 
figure as at least a regiment and his antagonist 
as a whole tribe of Indians. Pug Merriweather 
appeared as a defenseless settler, and the cocoa-nut 
was described as nearly losing its scalp. 

Otis had not given all his space to "war," for he 
followed that with an article severely pitching into 
a make-believe quotation from some imaginary for- 
mer number of Andy Wright's " Review." Before 
he had read a dozen lines of the "extract" itself, 
Andy was squirming on his seat with vexation, for it 
was an odd mixture of bad grammar, Irish brogue, 
and all sorts of broken English, not to speak of 

It was easy enough to abuse a thing like that, 

and even Mr. Hayne caught himself laughing when 
Otis gravel)- wound up with : 

"The author of this wretched piece of nonsense 
does not know how to spell, much less how to con- 
duct a ' Review.' He should at once place him- 
self under the care of our gifted friend, Professor 
John Derry." 

It was John's turn to squirm a little, for it was 
plain that he had been mentioned by his friend 
the editor of the "Plunger" as the last boy in 
school who was likely to be able to teach, even 
spelling, to Andy Wright. 

Charley Ferris followed, with his "Journal," and 
Joe Martin with his " Register," but they com- 
plained of the short notice they had had of publica- 
tion day. 

Will Torrance had been waiting as patiently as 
he could, and when at last his name was called, it 
seemed to him as if something chilly had come 
over that school-room. 

The fact was, he was conscious that everybody 
had heard enough. 

He only read, therefore one of the three pieces 
of poetry he had selected from his own writings for 
the occasion. 

It was pretty long, but it rhymed fairly well and 
paved the way for what Jeff Carroll had suggested 
to him — a leading editorial article on chickens. 

There was a suppressed giggle all around the 
school when he announced his subject, but it died 
away when he added that he intended to write, this 
time, about "Our Coop," and went right on with 
a decidedly personal description of the young gen- 
tlemen around him. 

It was pretty good fun, but some of the boys 
failed to see why Will need have been so careful to 
explain the difference between chickens and geese, 
and then to add that many people would be unable 
to sec it plainly, after all. 

He wound up with a notice of an excursion to 
"the lake," on Saturday, — to-morrow, — by "that 
ancient and honorable society, the Ramblers' 
Club," which hardly any of them had ever heard 
of before. 

"Young gentlemen," said Mr. Hayne, after 
Will sat down, "the hour has arrived for closing 
school. I will examine these papers carefully, and 
give you my criticisms next week. I must say, 
however, that I am very well pleased with so good 
a beginning. It is much better than I expected." 

All the editors were proud of that, and the boys 
whose turn was to come determined in their hearts 
to beat anything which had been read that day. 

(To be continued.) 






(A new style of Tableaux f 'wants. ) 

By G. B. Bartlett. 

This curious novelty can be produced with very little trouble in 
any parlor, by children, for the amusement of their friends, or in a 
public hall. 

A little girl dressed in white is discovered on a couch strewn with 
picture-books and toys, as if she had fallen asleep at play. She is 
dreaming of the pictures as they are shown in the great book which 
leans against the wall in the center at her right. The Fairy God- 
mother rises from behind the couch, and stands on a cricket above 
and behind the child. She is dressed in red (paper muslin or some 
cheap material), with long pointed waist over a black skirt. Her 
high pointed hat and her shoes and stockings are red, and she wears 
a white ruff about her n™ck and another inside her hat, which has a 
wide black band and a gilt buckle. 

She holds in her right hand a cane with a bar across the top, and 
after saluting the spectators, she sings: 

Sleep, darling, sleep! 
My fairy watch I keep, 
In dreamy visions I call to view 
Your childhood's friends so tried and true — 
Sleep, darling, sleep ! 

The Fairy Godmother then springs down from her perch, and opens 
the picture-book (which will be explained hereafter), taking care to 
open the cover and fly-leaf together, and a life-sized picture is seen ; 
after waiting a moment she shuts the plain or fly leaf, which she 
opens again as soon as the picture has been changed; and so on, 
until the effect produced resembles an actual exhibition of a great 
picture-book by turning over its leaves. 

When all the pictures of one story or series have been shown, the 
Fairy may shut the book, which will be the signal for the curtain to 
be dropped or for the folding doors in front of the sleeping child to 

be closed. After all the pictures selected for the evening have been 
shown, the characters, still in costume, are displayed in one group 
around the room, or stage, in a semicircle which is opened in the 
center, to allow the opened book, still containing a lovely picture, to 
be shown also. 

After they have remained still in tableau for one moment, the 
Fairy, who has resumed her place upon the high cricket, waves her 
cane and sings to some pretty lullaby tune this verse, in which all 
join; during which the little girl wakes, rubs her eyes, jumps off the 
couch into the center of the room, makes a bow to each one in order; 
they return her civility, and a!' bow to the audience as the curtain 
falls : 

Wake, darling, wake ! 
For we our leaves must take, 
And go right back to our picture-book, 
In which the little ones love to look. 
Wake, darling, wake ! 

Now, we must explain how the picture-book is made, as it can be 
used hundreds of times for all sorts of pictures. By a little change 
of decoration on the cover, it can serve as a history in which historical 
pictures can be shown — or it can be made to illustrate miscellaneous 
selections, or some well-known story. Place a long, solid table 
against the back wall in the exact center, and procure two boards 
one inch thick, six inches wide, and just long enough to touch the 
ceiling when they stand upright, leaning against the table. They 
must fit well, for they must be firmly fastened to the floor as well as to 
each of the front corners of this table. Having found the exact height 
of the boards, lay them on the floor and see that they are straight 
and parallel and just four and a half feet apart. Fasten upon them 
four strips of board six inches wide and five and a half feet long, 
one at each end of the boards, one at thirty inches from the bottom, 




and one six feet above the last-named. The strips must be fastened 
firmly with two-inch screws to each board, going through one into the 
other. Tack white bleached muslin on the upper strip and draw it 
tight by tacking it to the strip next below, then fasten another piece 
from the lowest strip to the strip which is thirty inches above it. 
Tack both pieces of cloth also to the outer edges of the long boards, 
and cover all the cloth and the boards which show, with white or 
tinted printing-paper : after this is done you will have an opening 
six feet high and four and a half feet wide. Then raise the whole 
until it is upright, and fasten it to the table by means of the second 
strip, which will lean against it, as most tables are about thirty inches 
high. If there should not be a chandelier near in front, to light it 
sufficiently, a gas rod with ten burners in it can be placed on the 
inner side of the upper bar, and fed with an elastic tube, which can 
be arranged by a plumber at a tritling expense; but unless a very 
elaborate exhibition is proposed, the ordinary light will probably 
answer. Shawls or curtains are hung on each side of this frame to 
the corners of the room, which will allow a passage for the per- 
formers : and a chair is placed at each end of the table so that they 
can step up and down out of the frame, behind which a curtain of 
dull green cambric is tacked on the back wall. The performers are 
to stand in a line behind the side curtains, at the right side of the 
hidden table, ready to step into the frame the moment the fly-leaf is 
shut and the former occupants have stepped down. 

The fly-leaf must be made by covering a light wooden frame with 
muslin, oil which printing-paper is pasted. It must be as high as the 
ceiling and five and a half feet wide, and it is hung on common hinges 
at the right outer edge of the upright board which forms one side of 
the frame. Behind these hinges a long strip of board, two inches 
thick and the height from the floor to the ceiling, is securely nailed, to 
hold the hinges of the cover so that it can swing freely apart from the 
fly-leaf without interfering with its motion, for although the fly-leaf is 
often opened with the cover, it is closed by itself when the pictures 
are changing, as the cover is only shut when one set of pictures is 
ended. The cover is like the fly-leaf only that it is decorated with 
pictures or ornaments at the comers and margin, and if in a large 
room it might have the title of the story to be shown. These titles 
can be made on strips of paper eight inches wide and three feet long, 
with black or colored chalk crayons, and can be changed whenever 
the curtain is shut. If for the entertainment of little children, the 
Fairy can tell the stories (which are too well known to require any 
description here), or she can read any of the stories aloud if she has 
no gift at story-telling. In the sketches of pictures introduced here, 
the very effective costumes and properties can be furnished in almost 
any house with very little trouble or expense, and the skill and taste 
used in preparing them will add much to the enjoyment. 

Series No. i. Cinderella. 

In the first picture, Cinderella is crouching in 
the left corner ; her head is bowed, and her face is 
hid in her hands, as if crying at her disappoint- 
ment in having to stay at home from the ball. The 
fairy godmother is bending over the prostrate girl, 
as if about to arouse her from her sad revery, 
and is pointing up with her stick, which she holds 
in her right hand. Cinderella wears a loose brown 
robe, under which is concealed a white muslin 
dress, richly trimmed with stars and fringe of gold- 
paper. The godmother's dress and stick are 
described on the preceding page ; the colors of it 
may be altered if preferred. 

Second Picture : The same characters as in the 
first ; same positions, excepting that the godmother 
and Cinderella have changed sides. The loose 
robe has been pulled off, and Cinderella stands 
proudly in the center, in a dancing attitude, con- 
templating with delight her beautiful ball-dress. 
The godmother is lifting up a large yellow pump- 

kin, as if showing Cinderella that her carriage will 
soon be ready ; and a box lies at her feet, to repre- 
sent the trap in which the horses are stabled, ready 
for the trip. Cinderella should be a blonde young 
lady, with small hands and feet, and a graceful, 
slight figure. 

Third Picture : The Prince and Cinderella 
stand as if about to lead the dance, in the attitude 
of the old-fashioned minuet; his right hand holds 
hers high, as she holds her dress with the left. 
Their left feet are extended, and their heads turned 
toward each other. The dress of the Prince can 
be made of light-blue sateen, trimmed with puffs of 
pink on the shoulders and at the sides ; he has loose 
trunks of pink with light-blue puffs, and pink 
stockings. Two ladies in court-dresses, similar to 
those described on the next page, may be intro- 
duced, one at each side, to represent other dancers. 

Fourth Picture : Cinderella in terror is flying 
from the ball, her old ragged dress on, and a dingy 
handkerchief tied loosely over her head. 

Fifth Picture : Cinderella is meekly asking the 
Prince to let her try on the glass slipper, which he 
holds, standing in the center. At the left, her 
angry sisters turn away in disgust, because they 
could not succeed in wearing the slipper. The 
sisters are dressed very showily, but Cinderella still 
wears her old brown costume, as she stands at the 
right of the Prince, with downcast eyes and 
extended hand. 

Sixth Picture : Cinderella sits in the center. 
The enraptured Prince kneels before her, with the 
foot wearing the glass slipper resting on a foot-stool ; 
the companion glass slipper she has just drawn from 
her pocket. The godmother stands over them, 
having changed the old brown robe into a ball- 
dress by her mystic power, and she seems to be 
waving her stick in triumph; and after this picture 
has been shown for one minute, the book is closed. 

Series No. 2. Jack and the Bean-stalk. 

First Picture : A small boy stands looking up 
into his mother's face in terror ; her right hand is 
raised above him in anger, as if she intended 
punishing him for selling the cow to so poor ad- 
vantage. She wears a black dress with very high 
panier over a gray underskirt ; a white kerchief 
over her shoulders, and a high pointed white cap. 

Jack wears red stockings, yellow trunks, a loose 
red jacket trimmed with yellow points. He holds in 
his left hand a round red cap, which is partly filled 
with beans, some of which, being strung separately 
on fine black silk, seem to be falling out of the cap. 

Second Picture : Jack is climbing up the bean- 
stalk, which is made of a rake-handle or long pole, 
one end being fixed in the table and the other out 



of sight in the picture ; a cross-stick on which he 
stands is made of an old broom-handle, two feet 
from the bottom of the picture ; another cross-stick 
five feet higher he clings to with his hands ; and 
all the sticks are covered with dark green cambric. 

Third Picture: The Giant is seated at a table; 
before him is the celebrated hen, and behind her, 
several golden eggs lie on the table (these are 
easily made by covering china eggs, or real ones, 
with gilt paper), while the hen is easily cut out in 
profile (as only one side is seen), on which feathers 
are drawn with crayon or stuck with glue. The 
giant is parti)- concealed by the table upon which 
he really kneels, and a large cloak covered with 
red calico and stuffed with pillows makes him very 
large ; and his head is made by covering a bushel 
basket with unbleached muslin, on which a face is 
drawn, red carpet yarn being sewed on the back 
to represent hair. 

Fourth Picture : Jack and his mother sit one 
at each side of a table, contemplating with wonder 
the hen and the two bags of gold. The table used 
in all these scenes is only a board ten inches wide, 
covered with a white cloth and furnished with 
rough legs which do not show. 

Fifth Picture : Jack is raising his hatchet to cut 
down the bean-stalk, and by his side is an enor- 
mous golden harp, which is made of pasteboard in 
profile, covered with gilt paper. 

Series No. 3. Beauty and the Beast. 

First PICTURE: The merchant is taking leave 
of his daughters ; Beauty is in the center winding a 
scarf around the neck of her father, while her 
proud sisters stand one at each side with extended 
hands, as if urging their father to bring them rich 
and costly attire. Beauty looks down, as if too 
modest to ask for any gift but a rose. 

The sisters wear silk dresses of as brilliant color 
as they can find, with long trains and square necks, 
which are easily contrived by sewing a square of 
white muslin upon the dress waists of their mother's 
dresses, the skirts of which will do for court trains. 

Their hair is rolled over a cushion, powdered, and 
dressed with feathers or flowers, which can be bor- 
rowed from bonnets. Beauty wears a plain loose 
waist of white muslin over a plain black skirt. Her 
hair falls loosely. 

The father has a square-cut suit (to arrange 
•which, fold the skirts of a sack coat away in front to 
form square corners, which, with the lapels, must be 
faced with white paper-muslin. The vest is covered, 
and also lengthened a quarter of a yard in front, 
with the same, and large flap pockets are added. 

Pantaloons rolled to the knee do very well for 

breeches, with long stockings and low shoes, and 
a felt hat can be pinned into a chapeau by turning 
up one side and fastening the other corner into a 

Second Picture: The father is plucking the rose 
from a bush which stands in the center, covered 
with paper roses. The Beast, with uplifted club, 
seems about to destroy the old man, who stands 
with knees together and hands down in a comic 
attitude of despair. 

The Beast wears a fur cloak or mat over his 
shoulders, pinned around his waist and reaching to 
his knees below the tops of long pink stockings. 
His arms may be bare, and he wears over his face 
a mask, which may be bought at a toy-shop, or 
made of brown paper. 

Third Picture : The father introduces his 
daughter to the Beast, who stands as if bowing low 
at the right. Beauty is at the left, drawing back, 
and making a courtesy. She is dressed as before, 
with the addition of a shawl pinned over her 
shoulders, and a red handkerchief over her head. 

Fourth Picture : Beauty's return home, in which 
scene she is embracing her old father, who seems 
in raptures ; they are in the center while the proud 
sisters stand one at each side, one looking off in 
anger, and the other gazing with envy at the happy 
pair. Beauty has a rich silk dress of a style sim- 
ilar to that shown in the first picture. 

Fifth Picture : Beauty is asleep in her chair in 
the center, while her sisters bend over her in 
triumph, one holding a vial containing the sleep- 
ing draught, of which they have administered a 
dose in order to make her overstay her time, and 
break her promise to the Beast. 

Sixth Picture : Beauty stands weeping over the 
body of the poor Beast, which is represented by a 
roll of dark shawls, around which the robe of the 
Beast is wrapped, as his head and feet would be con- 
cealed by the sides of the frame : her face is covered 
with her hands and she seems overwhelmed with 

Seventh Picture : A handsome prince is kneel- 
ing at the feet of Beaut)', who is overjoyed to find 
in him her faithful Beast, restored to his form and 
rank through her fidelity and truth. His dress can 
be arranged with a lady's velvet basque with an 
opera cape across the shoulders, a pair of white 
satin breeches made of paper muslin, white long 
hose, and low shoes with large bows ; a sash may 
cross from the left shoulder to the waist, in case the 
basque is too small to meet neatly in front. 

Wigs can be made of black and white curled hair, sewed upon a 
skull-cap, made of four conical pieces. Beards can be contrived by 
fastening the same articles, or white llama fringe, on a wire frame, 
which goes under the chin to each ear, around which it is fastened. 





Do you know a nice girl 
named Kate, who lives up-town 
in New York? I do. And I 
iSfirwl^P^ know her broth-er Joe. Ev-er-y 
sum-mer, Kate and Joe leave 
the cit-y and go to vis-it their 
aunt, who lives in a big house 
in the coun-try. And on pleas- 
ant days, their aunt lets them 
go " in-to the vil-lage near by 
to get the let-ters at the post- 
of-fice. They start ear-ly, and 
walk through the fields, and the 
pret-ty green lanes, in-stead of 
a-long the hot, dust-y road. Joe 
is not so big as Kate, but that 
is not his fault. He grows 
just as fast as he can, but as 
Kate is three years old-er 
than Joe, he can not catch up 
to her yet, nev-er mind how 
hard he may try. But he tells 
Kate that he is a BOY, any 
~~-*---~ --_ '-==>Cr- way, and he can take good 

care of her. So some-times, when they start down the lane, she takes 

his arm just as if he were a big man, and then Joe feels ver-y proud. 
One day when Kate and Joe were go-ing to the vil-lage, they saw 

a dog who was bark-ing at a ver-y lit-tle 

girl. The lit-tle girl cried with fear. But 

Joe came on just in time to say, in a 

ver-y loud voice, " Stop, sir ! " and the dog 

stopped at once and crawled a- way. Joe 

thought it was be-cause he was a BOY, 

but the real rea-son was that the dog saw **- 

a man com-ing with a whip in his hand. 

Next they saw an-oth-er dog, and what do you think this dog was 

do-ing? He was jump-ing af-ter a but-ter-fly ! But the but-ter-fly did 



not care one bit. He flew a-round and a-round the dog, just keep-ing 
out of reach of his mouth, un-til the dog was tired out. 

"Joe," said Kate, who thought she would teach her broth-er some- 
thing, " that beau-ti-ful but-ter-fly will turn to a 
worm some day." 

" Pooh!" said Joe. "Just as it I did n't know 
that. Now see me catch him in my hat ! " 

But Joe did n't catch him at all. For the but- 
ter-fly flew a-way, and left Joe sprawl-ing on the 
around. The brio-lit winy-s shook as if the but-ter- 
fly was laugh-ing at Kate and Joe. They made a 
ver-y fun-ny mis-take when they thought the but- 
ter-fly would turn to a worm. The worms change ; but not the but-ter- 
flies. First, the worm slow-ly hides him-self a-way in a soft cov-er-ing 
which he makes for him- 
self un-til it looks like a 
lit-tle bun-die. Then in 
time the bun-die bursts 
o-pen and out comes a 

When Joe picked him- 
self up that day, he rubbed 
his knees, and what did 
he see but an-oth-er doer ! 
It was white and small 
and its tail curled nat- 
u-ral-ly, Joe said. This 
dog was a great pet and 
he be-longed to a pret- 
ty lit-tle girl whom Joe 
and Kate did not know. 
He would not leave the 
lit-tle girl at all, and 
barked if Joe or Kate 
came near her. But the 
lit-tle girl smiled at them 
sweet-ly, and Kate said, " What a pret-ty pair of pets they are ! " 

"These must be the dog-days," said Joe, as they walked on; and 
Kate said she thought so too. 





JUNE is the boys' and girls' own month — fresh, 
rosy, busy, and full of plans for the season to come. 
This is the time when young feet twitch restlessly 
under school-desks and benches, and young eyes 
wander from school-books in hand to happy birds 
in the bush just outside the school-house door, and 
when the weary teacher has the same longings that 
make the children restless, though she may not 
think it best to confess it. 

Some of you have outdoor work in the summer, 
and some of you have outdoor play; but whether 
it 's one or the other, or both, June is eager for you 
to be at it ; and the way she whispers and pulls 
and beckons is something wonderful. 

Now, you shall hear about 


In most rivers, as I 've heard, the cataracts and 
rapids flow down-stream, but one of my Canadian 
friends sends word that the St. John River, New 
Brunswick, has a cataract which has a queer habit 
of sometimes rushing up-stream. 

A little above where the river flows into the 
ocean, there is a wide and deep basin that empties 
itself into the harbor through a narrow passage 
between two walls of rock. When the tide is 
going down, the water runs out of the harbor into 
the ocean far more quickly than the river can flow 
through the narrow channel above, and so the 
stream pours itself seaward through the harbor end 
of the passage in a roaring water-fall. But when 
the tide is rising, the ocean fills the harbor and 
passage so rapidly that the sea-water plunges down 
into the basin from the river end of the narrow 
channel, in a foaming cataract that falls up-stream ! 

Twice in every tide, however, there is a space of 
about twenty minutes when the waters are at one 
height in the harbor, passage, and basin, and then 

the ships that are to go up or down must be hur- 
ried through before the river " gets its back up," 
as the boys say. 

My dear Mr. Jack : In your Christmas remarks you mentioned 
a "curious winter-tree that lasts only a few hours." Well, now, 
please let me remind you that out here, in Australia, the winter 
weather does not come until June, and that it is full midsummer 
when Christmas comes. So, you see, our Christmas-trees can not be 
really " winter-trees," but they are "midsummer-trees." We enjoy 
them quite as well, though, and those of us who know you feel that 
we are just as much your youngsters as are the English and Ameri- 
can boys and girls who are lucky enough to have their Christmas, 
trees in true Christmas weather. — Your little friend, W. T. V. 


A lady who likes cats — and who also must be 
as fond of hunting up the origin of words as a cat 
is of hunting mice — sends the Little School-ma'am 
a nice long letter all about " puss" and "cat." As 
many of you maylike to know where these famil- 
iar titles come from, you shall have an extract from 
the letter : 

"Cat" is from the Latin "catus," which came into use in place 
of the older Latin "fells." The Romans brought the cats from Syria, 
where the name is "kato" — Arabic " kitt," from which we have 
"kitten," as I think. In Persian, the word is "chat," and the Per- 
sian language is allied to that most ancient tongue, the Sanscrit; so, 
perhaps, "chat" is the earliest form of our word "caL" 

In Persian, also, a cat wild or tame is " puschak," from a word in 
Sanscrit meaning " tail" ; and, to this day, Persian catsare noted for 
their handsome tails. This word "puschak" is pronounced "pis- 
chik" by the Afghans, and "puije" by the Lithuanians, and all 
these words are very like our word "pussy." Some derive "puss" 
from a Latin word "pusus," "pusa," meaning "little boy," "little 
girl." But where did this Latin word come from ? Sanscrit is older 
than Latin. Since the Sanscrit word means "tail," and Herodotus, 
the ancient historian, in describing the Egyptian cat, calls it by a 
word that means " the creature with waving tail," I, for one, shall 
believe in the Sanscrit origin of our word "puss," and not in the 
supposed Latin origin. J. H. K. 


Deacon Green tells me that the Editors of St. 
Nicholas will give you, this month, a nice long 
talk about the ostrich, its ways and habits, and 
also some human ways of dealing with that nimble- 
footed bird. In this case, the sooner I show you 
my prize-bird, the better ; for it 's the most ostrich-y- 
looking bird for one that is not an ostrich, that you 
have ever seen. 

Now, the question is, what is he ? And where 
does he live ? What is his Latin name ? And 
what is his every-day name ? Can he run like an 
ostrich, or is he one of your slow-goers? 

And what of the little fellows down foot ? They 
are striped, and the big bird is speckled. Why is 
this thus? And what means that queer house in 
the background ? That may give my shrewd ones a 
clue as to the home of this no-ostrich bird. 

There are encyclopedias and dictionaries and 
picture-books and works of travel, the dear Little 
School-ma'am tells me, that are even cleverer than 
my youngsters. I can hardly believe it ; but if the 
dear little lady is right, as she always is, why not 
consult these cleverer things ? 

Let me hear from you soon, my hearties ! 

J A C K - I N - T II E - P U L P I T . 


jack's prize bird, what is it ? 



[J UNE, 


Contributors are respectfully informed that between the 1st of 
June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can not be conveniently 
examined in the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those who 
wish to favor the magazine will please postpone sending their articles 
until after the last-named date. 

Our thanks are due to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., for 
their courtesy in allowing us to reprint in our " Treasure-box of 
English Literature " an extract from one of Mr. Lowell's poems ; and 
to Hon. F. M. Finch, for kind permission to use his poem, "The 
Blue and the Gray." 

Dear St. Nicholas: What is the proper way to spell the name 
of the poet Shakspear? In this town, which is only a few months 
old, I can not find out from any body. Uncle Robert knows, I 
think ; but he is a tease, and all that I can get from him about it is 
such ridiculous things as, " Shakspear himself did n't seem to know 
how his own name ought to be written," and "once he even went 
so far as to say what 's in a name," and "he never could have 
learned properly how to spell, for he wrote his words all crooked," 
and so on. But if you can help me, please do, and oblige your true 
admirer, Fanny G., 12 years. 

For an answer to Fanny G.'s letter, we can not do better than 
reprint a part of a communication relating to the subject, and which 
came to us lately from Mrs. Mary Cowden-Clarke, who, with her 
husband, has written many works concerning Shakespeare and his 
writings. She says : 

The mode of spelling " Shakspere" was used when printing my 
concordance to the great poet's plays, in deference to the wish of 
Mr. Charles Knight, its original publisher; otherwise I should have 
used the form " Shakespeare," which I have always adopted, because 
it was the one given in the First Folio Edition of his dramatic works 
by its superintendents and his brother-actors Heminge and Condell. 
The name is also given thus in the First Edition of his Sonnets; 
and it seems to have been the orthography used in print, where his 
name was given during his life-time. That as many as sixteen different 
modes of spelling the name have been found to have been used at 
the epoch when he wrote, and that he himself did not adhere to any 
particular one when signing his name, appears to be merely in 
accordance with a fashion of the time, which allowed of the utmost 
irregularity in the orthography of men's names. 

Chester Whit.more. — Your questions about a fresh-water 
aquarium will be answered by Mr. Daniel C. Beard in an article to 
be published probably in our next number. 

All our readers who enjoy Mr. Rossiter Johnson's admirable 
story of " Phaeton Rogers ' will appreciate the accompanying letter 
concerning the scene of Phaeton's exploits, and giving some inter- 
esting facts about the author of the story. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We are very much interested in the story of 

"Phaeton Rogers," because the scene of it is laid in our native town. 

All the adventures recounted took place in that part of the city- where 

1 I was born, and have lived fifteen years, and where my parents have 

lived nearly forty years ; so it is all very familiar to me. 

We have many times been over the railway crossing where that 
most interesting character, Jack-in-the-Box, lived in his delightful 
little flag-house. That flag-house is no longer standing, but mamma 
remembers having seen it, years ago, with its pointed roof, and one 
side covered with morning-glory vines. I wish she had looked inside, 
and seen the shelf full of books, and all the other things described. 
I am curious to know whether the story of Jack-in-the-Box will be 
spoiled by ending in a romance, or whether he was a veritable char- 
acter, for I think he is made very interesting. 

We know the very spot where the author of the story used 
to live when all his adventures with Phaeton and Ned took 
place. The other day we walked out on the street where 
the boys rode when they took Uncle Jacob's horse to pasture, 
on purpose to see if we could recognize any of the places 
mentioned in that famous ride. But the city has changed very 
much since those days. Then, that street was a country road, 

with barns and hay-fields on either side, but now it is one line of 
stores and houses, with a street-car track in the center. The only 
things we recognized were, the stone brewery, now transformed into 
a flour-mill, and the building that used to be the Quaker meeting- 
house, in front of which the boys sat when they were listening to 
Jimmy the Rhymer's ballad. 

Deep Hollow, mentioned several times in the story, is a beautiful 
ravine. We have often explored parts of it in summer. My brother 
well remembers the strife between the Dublin boys and the boys on 
our side of the river, and it is said to continue, even now. 

My older sisters once went to a school in this district, where they 
remember Mr. Rossiter Johnson as one of the scholars, and that he 
was considered the smartest boy in the school. So, children in 
reading " Phaeton Rogers," may know that the most unimporiayit 
character in the story, who rarely says anything, and then only 
"ventures to suggest," is really an uncommon boy. 

The name "Rochester" is certainly buried very plainly in the 
little couplet, where readers are given a chance to find out the 
name of the town in which the boys lived, but if I had not already 
recognized Rochester in the familiar scenes of the story, I don't 
think I should have discovered it. No author could find a more 
delightful place for the scene of a story than Rochester, especially 
that part of the city which includes Deep Hollow and the river. 

Mr. Johnson is now well known to fame. His wife also is literary, 
and my sisters went to school with her at one time, when they 
attended Miss Dolittle's seminary on Fitzhugh street. She is the 
daughter of a Greek professor in the University of Rochester, who 
has a wide reputation. 

I never read a story before where the scene was laid in Rochester, 
and it greatly adds to its interest to have it such a charming story as 
"Phaeton Rogers," and to know that its author is a native of our 

The coming of the St. Nicholas is always anticipated in our 
family, but now I hail its appearance with peculiar pleasure. — Very 
sincerely, M. F. 

The responses to our request to hear from performers of "The 
Land of Nod," the operetta published in the number for December, 
1SS0, have been very gratifying, and we are glad to know that the 
little piece has been successful in so many places. Among the 
most profitable performances that have been reported to us were 
those in Boston Highlands, at the Church of the Unity; Chatham, 
Mass.; Brooklyn, N. Y., at All Souls' Church; Jefferson, Ohio; 
and Santa Fe, New Mexico. And the following letter from Little 
Falls we are suie will interest everybody everywhere who has had 
anything to do with bringing out the operetta: 

Dear St. Nicholas: I don't usually read the letters in the 
" Letter-box," but going to the piano to try the piece of music 
entitled " Romance Without Words," I discovered the letter from 
Mrs. Flagg, which led me to think you would be pleased to know 
we have had the " Land of Nod " here in Little Falls. The ladies 
of our parish held a three-days' festival, and for Ofte evening's enter- 
tainment, my mamma and Mrs. Ransom prepared the children of 
our Sunday-school, in "The Land of Nod." It was " too cunning 
for anything" to see the little "sleepy-heads" of three and five 
years of age act their parts so nicely. The red light thrown on the 
last scene brought great cheering from the audience. To finish the 
evening entertainment, mamma had drilled twelve little girls in the 
"Fan Brigade," after the description given in your January num- 
ber. Mamma wishes me to say it will repay any one for the trouble 
and time spent in drilling them, when properly costumed, and suc- 
cessfully presented. 

I meant to mention that I took part as one of the dream-sprites in 
" The Land of Nod" (as I am twelve years old), and I was also in 
the Fan Brigade. We repeated the operetta another evening, and 
after our expenses of $120.00 were paid, we had over $200.00 left. 
I hope you will publish some more pieces as nice. — Your subscriber, 

Jessie H. B. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I tried the magic dance described in your 
March number, and I wish to tell you it is a fraud. I followed the 
rules exactly, and it would not work. I like your book very much. 
— Your constant reader, C. M. H. 

We are sorry that C. M. H.'s experiment did not succeed; 
but, as we ourselves have seen the magic dance performed success- 
fully by merely following the directions given in the March number, 
we feel sure that there must have been some mistake in C. M. H.'s 




arrangements. Moreover, several other readers have sent accounts 
very different from C. M. H.'s. Here is one: 

Dear St. Nicholas: On Saturday, March 12th, I had a few 
little girls come to visit me. I wanted something nice to amuse 
them with, so I tried the magic dance spoken of in the March St. 
Nicholas. Mamma bought me a pane of glass and I traced some 
of the figures in Miss Kate Greenaway's little book, " Under the 
Window," and put the glass between two bound volumes of St. 
Nicholas. The figures danced beautifully. With much love to 
you, dear St. Nicholas, A. S. K. 

The question was asked in June, 1S79, by Jaek-in-the-Pulpit, how 
the strawberry got its name. Answers came, of course, but none 
01 them appeared to be satisfactory. Here, however, are two letters 
that seem to settle the question: 

Dear St. Nicholas : Years ago, when strawberries grew wild 
about London, England, the children used to gather them, string 
them on the long, straw-like grasses, and sell them for a penny a 
"straw of berries," which soon was shortened into "strawberry." — 
Yours sincerely, Helen M. Lamb. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I have been told that strawberries are so 
called because in former times people used to string the berries on 
straws ready for eating. I think this is a queer idea, but perhaps it 
is true, for folks did have funny notions. — Your friend, 

Jessie L. Bellows. 

In connection with Mr. Ernest Ingersoll's article upon " Ostrich- 
Farming," in the present number, we print the following cutting from 
the London "Times" of May 14, 18S0: 

An ostrich, long on exhibition at Rome, having been suffocated 
by thrusting its neck between the bars, there were found in its 
stomach four large stones, eleven smaller ones, seven nails, a neck- 
tie pin, an envelope, thirteen copper coins, fourteen beads, one 
French franc, two small keys, a piece of a handkerchief, a silver 
medal of the Pope, and the cross of an Italian order. 

And here is a slip from ihe New York "Tribune" of January, 1881 : 

A mania for ostrich farming possesses the settlers in South Africa, 
and vast tracts of sheep-pasture are being converted into ranges for 
the more profitable bipeds. As a result, the price of mutton has 
advanced two cents per pound. 

Kittie Hanaford. — Any reader — whether a subscriber or not — 
who sends solutions of St. Nicholas puzzles, will be named in the 
list printed at the end of the " Riddle-box." 

Dear St. Nicholas : Roller-skates are very nice — on other peo- 
ple. Gertie or Edie sweeps by on a "set of wheels," and you say : 
" Dear me ! How nice it is ! I '11 ask Mamma to get me a pair ; " 
and, on being assured that " it is the easiest thing in the world to 
learn," you go to your mother or father and say : " Please, please 
get me a pair of roller skates! I '11 be so good ! I saw Gertie on a 
pair to-day, and she went like everything. She says it is awful easy 
to learn. Ah, do now, please. I want 'em so! " And in the end 
your father goes and buys a pair. 

Ah, how proud you are of the bright metal heels, the rattling 
buckles and straps, and the clicking wheels! And how impatiently 
you await the first fine day, that you may "go skating." It has 
come. Gertie or Edie is willing to give you a lesson, and you en- 
viously watch the graceful ease with which she flies up and down 

the sidewalk. She takes your hand — you " strike out " What is 

it? Is the world waltzing? — Are you flying through air? Only 

a tenth of a second do you think this. Then, — Oh, the anguish 
of that moment! Gertie laughs. You think, "Oh, how heartless 
that girl is ! " 

Then she helps you up. You try to smile, and when she asks: 
"Are you hurt?" you say "A 1-i-t-t-l-e. " 

Then you try again, only to repeat the same experience. Finally 
you learn to go the width of a flag-stone without falling, and slowly 
you learn to go, perhaps, a block alone. But this is only after 
about, "to dra' it mild," fifty falls. 

If you think it worth while, "go ahead." If you think it easy, 
take warning, and stop while there is yet lime. 

Helen N. Stearns, 12 years. 

Helen evidently has not had patience to master the art of roller- 
skating. But there are hundreds and hundreds of boys and girls 
who will not agree with her concerning it. For the city parks of 
New York of late have been almost transformed into rinks for the 
boys and girls on roller-skates. During the months of March and 
April, the whirl of the skates was heard on all the pavements there, 
and even the crowds upon Broadway were startled by the swift 
young skaters shooting by on their way to school. We give below 
a scene on a bright April day in Madison Square, New York, which 
shows the enjoyment the young people of this city have taken in 
this style of skating. 

■if A 

»"-.. A* 









Dear St. Nicholas: I saw in December number Jack-in-the 
Pulpit's remarks about the gingerbread-tree, and it reminded me of 
an old-fashioned poultry-tree that I saw last September while out 
riding with papa. It was in this Connecticut village, and near a 
dilapidated house. There was a small orchard of old-fashioned 
apple-trees, one of which attracted my attention, for it bore both 
fowls and fruit. There were a great many apples upon the tree, so 
many 1 could not count them ; the branches came near the ground, 
and a variety of poultry had taken lodgings there for the night, 
namely, turkeys, guinea-hens and chickens. These, together with 
the apples, were to me quite an amusing sight. I think if the readers 
of the " Letter-box" could have seen it they would have laughed as 
heartily as I did. — Yours truly, Carroll S. Shepard (11 years). 

We have received from the publisher, James H. Earle, a copy of 
a neatly bound little book entitled " From Log-cabin to the White 
House," by William M. Thayer. It details the life of President 
Garfield, and gives many incidents of his boyhood ; and it can be 
recommended to boys and girls as both interesting and helpful. 

The following verses are appropriate to these bright summer 
mornings, and are very cleverly written for a girl only eleven years 
of age : 

Good- Morn INC 

Over the fields the sun shone brightly, 
Among the trees the breeze blew lightly, 

And seemed to say, 

At peep of day, 
" Good-morning, little girl ! " 

The little streamlet ran on in glee, 
And on its bank waved many a tree; 

They seemed to say, 

At peep of day, 
" Good-morning, little girl ! " 

The butterflies and the bumble-bees, 

The bright blue skies and the bright blue seas, — 

All seemed to say, 

At peep of day, 
" Good-mornmg, little girl ! " Daisy. 

flowers can be fastened without paste, by the use of little slips of 
gummed paper. These directions are contained in it. We will 
send one of these books to the boy or girl who will send us the 
best set of specimens of pressed wild flowers, prepared unaided, 
and accurately named and dated. Each set is to consist of six speci- 
mens. Mount each specimen, after it is thoroughly pressed, on a 
card of bristol-board. 

For your own collection, sheets of paper at least 10 X 16 inches 
should be used, but for convenience in mailing, use cards cut to the 
size of a page of commercial note-paper. The scientific and common 
names of each specimen are to be written in the lower right-hand 
corner of its card, together with the date and place of gathering the 
flower, and the name of the collector. 

Write your name and address on the back of each card. Put two 
or three thicknesses of paper between the specimens, to prevent 
injury in the mail-bags, and send, as before, to H. H. Ballard, 
Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass., by the 15th of September, 1881. 

See " Jack-in-the-Pulpit," St. Nicholas for August, 1877; and 
" The Sea-weed Album," St. Nicholas for August, 1875. 

Next month about insects. 

The list of our correspondents is now enlarged to about 800. The 
following new chapters have been formed: 


As promised last month, here are a few directions fur collecting 
and pressing wild-flowers: 

1. Bring your flowers home, roots and all, in a botany-bo.\ made 
like the picture in the other column, and not painted. 

The most convenient length is eighteen inches. The ends are 
elliptical, with a long diameter of seven inches. 

2. Specimens should be put to press as soon as possible after they 
have been collected. Each leaf should be smoothed and held in 
position by the finger or a bit of glass, until the paper has been 
pressed down upon it. When properly treated, pressed flowers 
retain a large degree of their grace of form and richness of color. 

3. Roots and branches too thick to be pressed entire may be 
thinned with a sharp knife to a section not much thicker than the 
leaves. The petals of heavy flowers, like the water-lily, may be 
pressed separately and put together again when dry. 

4. There is a kind of blotting-paper made expressly for drying 
plants, but an excellent substitute is newspapers. Lay a smooth 
board over all and use a heavy stone for pressure. 

5. After the specimens are thoroughly dried, they may be trans- 
ferred to a Plant-book or Herbarium. 

We have devised a book for the use of our members, in which 

Address. No. of Members. Secretary. 

Flint, Mich 5 . . H. Lovell. 

Utopia, N. Y 12.. D. E. Willard. 

Hartford, Conn — . . C. A. Kellogg, 27 Niles st. 

Auburn, Ala — . . K. B. Trichenor. 

Hartford, N. Y 10.. S. E. Arnold. 

Nashville, Tenn 20. . R. I. Tucker, 117 Monroe st. 

Greene, Iowa, "Pine Croft".. 6..L. Price. 

Glencoe, 111 — ..O. M. Howard. 

Philadelphia (D) Pa 4. .J. McFarland, 1314 Franklin st. 

Santa Cruz, Cal 4. .C. W. Baldwin. 

Pigeon Cove, Mass — . ,C. C. Fears. 

Pittsfield, Mass 4. . ■ — . 

Ypsilanti, Mich 33. . E. R. Shier, Care If. Snyder. 

Northampton, Mass 6. .Chas. Maynard. 

Cedar Rapids, Iowa 13 . . L. Leach. 

Wright's Grove, 111 6. .Wm Greenleaf. 

Waltham, Mass 7. .H. Hancock, P. O. 1339. 






Words Within Words, i. S-laver-y. 2. E-we-r. 3. S-event-y. 
4. F-actor-y. 5. P-lent-y. 6. C-row-d. 7. C-luster-s. 8. 

Numerical Enigma. "She came adorned hither like sweet 
May." Shakespeare s Richard II,, Act V., Sc. 1. 

Diamond in a Square, i. HeArt. 2. EAGEr. 3. AGONY. 
4. RENDs. 5. TrYst. Puzzle. Foe-t. 

Word-Building. I. A; pa; ape; pear; drape; spared; despair; 
paradise; disappear. II. 1; it; tie; tile; stile; tinsel; tingles; 
nestling; listening; glistening. III. M; am; man; main; mania; 
animal; laminar; marginal. IV. U; us; sum; muse; Remus; 
muster; sumpter; trumpets. Charade. The letter I. 

Double Acrostic. Primals: Honor the Brave. Finals: Dec- 
oration Day. Cross-words: 1. HeralD. 2. OriolE. 3. Numis- 
matic. 4. OctavO. 5. RectoR. 6. ThaliA. 7. HelmeT. 8. 
Ell. p. BanjO. 10. RatioN. 11. AntiquateD. 12. VistA. 13. 
ElasticitY. Picture Puzzle. Fagin, Sykes, and his dog. 

Two Easy Cross-word Enigmas, i. May. 2. Marbles. 

Numerical Enigma for Wee Puzzlers. Trailing Arbutus. 

Easy Illustrated Puzzle. May-pole. 

Lamp. Play. Riddle. Spring. 

Abridgments. Hawthorne. 1. H-air. 

Ape. Map. Mole. 

4. T-horn. 5. H-and. 6. C-O-at. 
9. M-E-an. 

Progressive Enigma. Heathens. 

St. Andrew's Cross of Diamonds. 

2. A-we. 


Pea-R. 8. Pri-N-ce. 

C. 2. Mab. 
Diamond: 1. B. : 
Diamond: 1. B. 2 
Left-hand Diamond 

. Lea. 
1. B. 


3. Begin. 

3. Brown. 

2. Boa. 

N. 2. Eos. 


Upper Left-hand Diamond : 
5. B. Upper Right-hand 
" 5. N. Central 

N. Lower 


4. Awe. 5. 

3. Bourn. 4. Art. 5. N. 

Lower Right Diamond : 1. N. 2. Eos. 3. Noted. 4. Set. 5. D. 

Easy Hour-glass. Centrals: Peacock. Across: r. LeoPard. 

2. BlEss. 3. SAd. 4. C. 5- FOg. 6. DeCks. 7. WilKins. 
Anagrams, for Older Puzzlers, i. Shadows. 2. Signature. 

3. Credentials. 4. Revolution. 5. Patriotism. 6. Reformatory. 
Three Easy Word-squares. I. 1. Crab. 2. Rice. 3. Acre. 

4. Beet. II. 1. Dive. 2. Iron. 3. Void. 4. Ends. III. 1. 
Pond. 2. Over. 3. Neva. 4. Drab. 


In each of the following puzzles, the word which is to fill the first 
blank is to be such that its letters may be re-arranged to form a 
word that will fill the second blank and make sense. 

1. You can not cross the in a . 2. After saying a 

few his enemy handed him a . 3. In spite of his 

leg, he was as firm as the . 4. We found the doors of 

all the and cottages . 5. The owner of the 

antiquities. 6. The man who 

- as he lifted it on his shoulder. 

- the book. 8. It was , 

— . d. w. 

in Brazil, who, when they questioned him, looked an ishuid near 
England and said they must a cape of North Carolina for an island 


•ear Massachusetts. 

house had a large collection of 

was playing the uttered a — 

7. The was obliged to — 

and not Alice, who deserved the - 


Kepas lulf lewl, ni ganlugea antiuq dan donle, 
Eon how wedltelh yb het tasdlec neRih, 

Hwne eh eladcl eth lerfsow,os uleb nad ogelnd, 
Sastr, taht ni rathe's nirametfm od hisen. 


These differ from the ordinary word-square in that the words 
which form them do not read the same, horizontally and perpen- 
dicularly ; in each square, the letters which are represented by stars 
in the diagram, when read across, or up and down, spell the name 
of the same pretty flower. 

I. 1. The plant from which opium is obtained. 2. To withdraw. 
3. A flower. 4. Fragrant blossoms. 5. The chief magistrate of a 
city. II. 1. A poisonous reptile. 2. Track followed by a hunter. 
3. A flower. 4. A treatise. 5. Harmony of language. III. 1. 
One of a vagabond race. 2. To demand as due. 3. A flower. 4. 
A wooden frame for supporting pictures. 5. Kingly. IV. 1. A 
kind of tree. 2. A trap. 3. A flower. 4. Obscure. 5. Designate. 
V. 1. A fruit. 2. A fixed position. 3. A flower. 4. A large wild 
animal. 5. A stratum. ruth a. carlton. 


In the month of a cape of Nov Jersey, a small island in the Irish 
Sea, named a lake in New 1 'ork, went to ///t,' capital of Italy, in a 
lake at tlte north of Minnesota. He took for islands of Oceanica, 
his friends, two capes extending into Chesapeake Bay. The island 
near Scotland, was a cape of Southern Ireland, and rejoiced their 
mountains in Germany, although the air was a little country on the 
Pacific coast of South America. Each took for refreshments in a 
satchel, of a coutitry in the north of Africa ; an islands of Oceanica, 
and fritters made of chopped Bay of Long Island. For a beverage 
they carried an imitation of the wine of a city in France made from 
grapes gathered in an island south of Massachusetts. In their 
ramMes, one of them lost a cuff-button ornamented with a river in 
Mississippi, They suspected that it was found by a person called a 
caps in Massachusetts, for they passed her and a r terward met a river 


Mv first is in jewel, but not in gold; 

My second is i.i bugle, but not in horn; 

My third is in young, but not in old ; 

My fourth is in even, but not in morn ; 

My whole is a pleasant time of year,— 

A time of flowers and sunny cheer. dycie. 


I am composed of forty-five letters, and am a quotation from one 
of Coleridge's poems. 

My 38-28-34-35-6 is an aromatic garden plant. My 39-10-15-26-23- 
43-5 is odious. My 42-13-8-30 is a prison. My 20-36-3-27-14 is a 
temporary building. My 44-22-40-9 is a corner. My 41-7-32-24-45 
a layer or stratum. My 16-21-11-37-31 is a kind of bee. My 33-1- 
25-19 is desirous. My 17-29-12-4-2-18 is to explain. archie. 


The initials and finals name two countries of Europe often on the 
verge of war. Cross-words: i. A leather strap. 2. Clamor. 3. 
A deserter. 4. A kind of hawk which, in India, acts as street 
scavenger. 5. A heroic poem. 6. Old times. f. a. w. 


The central letters of this puzzle, reading across, form a word of 
ten letters made of two words of five letters each. Upon the first 
half of the long word the Left-hand Diamond is based; and upon 
the other half is based the Right-hand Diamond. 

Centrals across : A fruit. Left-Hand Diamond (across) : 1. 
In bouquets. 2. An inciosure. 3. The dry stem of wheat. 4. A 
ruminant animal. 5. In flowers. Right-Hand Diamond (across) : 
1. In blossoms. 2. A kind of atmospheric moisture. 3. A small 
fruit. 4. Distorted. 5. In nosegay. W. H. 


Roman or Grecian, all the same, 

My first is pleased my whole to meet. 

Whether in delicate array, 

Or, like my second, always gay, 

Its blooming face we gladly greet. b. 


In the following puzzle, each pair of definitions refers to a word 
spelled alike in German and in English. The German definition is 
printed first, then the English. 

1. Ahead-gear; a hovel. 2. A relative; to talk indistinctly. 3. 
An infant; beneficent. 4. A resting-place ; to seize. 5. A definite 
article; a cave. 6. Acrid; an annual plant. 7. A sort; skill. 8. 
An ablution; wicked. 9. Remote; a plant that grows in moist 
places. 10. A division of time: a label. 11. Part of a verb; a 
terrible contest. 12. A poison ; a present. A. T. mombert. 

6 5 6 




An anagram is a word spelled with all the letters of another word, 
the letters being, of course, arranged differently. In the present 
puzzle, there are five anagrams, and five sets of pictures to corre- 
spond. The puzzle is to be solved by taking the letters of a word 

that describes one picture of each set, and re-arranging them so as 
to spell a word or words that will fairly describe the mate picture or 
pictures. In the illustration, each numeral is so placed that it 
stands in, and thus indicates, all the pictures belonging to its set. 


I. An invocation. 2. That which caused the death of a royal 
woman of great beauty. 3. A means for holding a door closed 
without locking it. 4. A bird. 5. A king whose city was taken by 
the ancient Greeks. 6. " Something accomplished, something done. " 
7. An ill-used, too-often used, and too-little used, letter. v. 

The names of solvers are printed in the second number after that 
in which the puzzles appear. 

Answers to March Puzzles were received, too late for acknowl- 
edgment in the May number, from Carl and Norris, London, Eng., 
2 — "Brownie Bee," 8 — Lillie Keppelman, 1 — " Two Little Bees," 
Les Ruches, France, 6— L. Bradner, Paris, 6 — A. Merrylees, Italy, 1. 

Solutions to Puzzles in the April Number were received 
before April 20, from Edwin Walker, Jr., 8 — Alice M. Kyte, 13 — 
C. and J. Treat, all — J. S. Hunt, all — Kittie Hanaford, 9 — 
"Partners," 12 — Pearl and Birdie Bright, 4 — Marion Booth, 2 — 
Samuel D. Stryker, Jr., 7 — " So So," all — "Adam and Eve," all — 
" Carol and her Sisters," all — " F. H. R.," 11 — Georgia Jones, 5 — 
Florence G. Lane, 2 — C. Willenbucher, ic — E. S. Hosmer, 10 — 
Harriet L. Pruyn, 1 — J. Alvah Scott, 14 — Clarence Haviland, 13 — 
Lanman Crosby, 5 — Robert K. Harris, 2 — "Queen Bess," 16- — W. 
C. McLcod, :o— Richard Anderson, 3 — Hallie B. Wilson, 4— 
Gussie and Anna Larrabee, 14 — M. M. Libby, 13 — Philip Sidney 
Carlton, 12 — "K. F. M.," 12 — "Hallie and her Cousin," 7 — 
Jeanie and Edward Smith, 10 — Edith Louisa Miner, 3 — Nanie 
Gordon, 12 — "We, UsandCo.," 13 — JuliaT. Pember, 3 — Clarence 
Peabody, 5 — Katy Flemming, 14 — Lester D. Mapes, 12 — 


Wilbur F. Henderson, 1 — Willie Van Kleeck, 12 — Mors O. Slocum, 
15 — Fred Thwaits, all — "Buttercup and Daisy," 8 — Eugene A. 
Clark, 14 — "Tom, Dick, and Harry," 11 — Sophie M. Ducloux, n 

— Nettie Richards, 1 — J. Milton Gitterman, 3 — The Stowe Family, 
all — "Carlyle,"2 — Florence E. Pratt, all — C. L. Brownell, all — 
Sallie Vilcs, 13 — Mary E. Sprague, 4— " Olive," 4 — "Johnnie and 
Jessie," 16 — Annie Mills and Louie Everett, 16 — Witch and 
Wizard, 12 — Carrie Davison, 3 — Estelle Merrill, 1 — " M'liss," 4 — 
Florence Leslie Kyte, 13 — " Sid 'and I," 14 — George A. Stahl, 2 — ' 
"A. G. B. and M. G. B.," 11 — Edmund C. Carshaw, 9 — John B. 
Miller, 7— "Willie F. P.," 4— W. B. Potrere, 8— John B. Blood, 6 

— Ellen L. Way, 12— "O. We R. Y.Y.," 12— O. B. Judson, 13— 
Bertie Manier, 14 — Louise and Nicoll Ludlow, 14 — " Frenchy," 10 

— Lulu M. Brown, 10 — " Zaydee," 11 — Luzia and Elsbeth Hitz, 
7 — Caroline Larrabee, 5 — Walter W. Silson, 1 — Horace F., h — 
Bernard C. Weld, 15 — Nellie Caldwell, 4 — Effie Wagener, 1 — May 
Shepardson, 1 — Josie McCleary, 7 — Leonie and Zella, 12 — Mark 
L. McDonald, Jr., 3 — Cora Gregory, n — J. C. and L. Tomes, all 

— W. F. Harris, 12 — Archie and Hugh Burns, 12 — Lulu G. 
Crabbe, all — Arabella Ward, 4 — Robert E. Coates, 14 — Ollie and Inez McGregor, 3 — Willie F. Woolard, 5 — "Indian," 1 — A. B. C, all 

— Lulu Meisel, 1 — " Fret Sawyer," 2 — De F. W. Chase, 1 — W. Eyes, all — Frank R. Heath, 15 — Mabel Thompson, 3 — H. and F. Kerr, 
8 — M. Nicure, 1 — "Chic," 2 — Bessie and her cousin, 16— "Puck," 2 — Raymond Cilley, 1 — Frank W. Crane, 7 — " Crystale,'' 3 — Henry 
L. Mitchell, 14 — Grace Crosley, 1 — "Mystic Trio," 11 — Austin M. Poole, all — Ethel Gillis, 3 — F. W. H. and G. TJ. C, 9 — Etta Iva 
Anthony, 14 — Sadie Medary, 11 — Willie D. Ward, all — Mamie and Annie Baker, 2 — Willie Evans, 7 — E. Matthews, 4 — "Puzzle 
Seeker," 4 — Frank C. Caldwell, 2 — H. O. Adley, 1 — J. M. T., 6 — Charlotte Mcllvaine, 12 — E. S. Meyers, 4 — Wheelie, 13 — Lilian 
R. M., 1 — Jack R. Wrenshall, 2 — Minnie Woodbury, 5 — Virgie and Ettie, 2 — Georgie Smith, 2 — Isabelle, 13 — G. H. and Charlie Allyn, 
5 — Lizzie C. C, 4 — Mary L. Thorne, all — Thos. Hillson, Jr., all — Mamie Williams, 1 — Mamie Pifer, 1 — " Mauch Chunk," 15 — C. H. 
Tibbits and W. E. Billings, 12 — Dycie, n — Archie and Charlotte, 4 — Henry Rochester, 2 — Violet, 3 — Starr K. Jackson and Maud L. 
Lacey, 13 — Willie L. Ross, 5 — Willie R. Folsom, 1 — Ruth Camp, 4 — Alice and Walter, 7 — Evangeline Wade, 5 — Grace M. Fisher, 12 — 
Herbert Barry, all — Estelle M. Beck, 3 — Charlie F. Potter, 15 — "Two Grown Folks," 15 — J. Harry Anderson, 6— Edward Browazki, 4 

— Harry Heydrick, 5 — Bessie S. Hicok, all — Bertha Hills, 1 — J. Harry Robertson, 5 — " Guesser," all — " Fraud," 4 — Jennie Elliott, 8 — 
Fannie E. Case, 10 — B. B., 4 — "The Inmates," 13 — Jeannie Osgood, 10 — Gerard H. Oulton, 6* — " Mignon," 1 — Grace B. Taylor, 5 — 
Joseph Wheless, 4 — Fanny Bissinger, 1 — Grace E. Hopkins, all — Jessie and Charles F. Lipman, all — "Jessie," 15 — Lizzie D. Fyfer, 3 

— E. Wirth, 3 — "Bab," all — Frank E. Newman, 2 — Bertha, Herman, and Charles, 6 — Gustav T. Bruckmann, 1 — Marie C, 14 — "Belle 
and Bertie," 14 — Nettie and Willie Van Antwerp, 14 — Warren Cook, 1 — Harry Cook, 1 — E. R. Conklin, 3 — Herbert C. Thirlwall, 13 — 
Daisy May, all — Helen, Florence, and Louise, 5 — Wallace K. Gaylord, 13 — E. H. Neville, 2 — Fred. C. McDonald, all — Lizzie H. D. 
St. Vrain, 13 — Frederick W. Faxon, all — R. O. Chester, 7 — " Ulysses," 13 — Agnes Fulton, 1 — R. T. Losee, 15 — John H. H. Coleman, 
5 — Hattie Evans and Mary de N., 6 — " Bosun," 15 — T. K. and N. B. Cole, 11 — " 80 and 81," all — Elsie B. Wade, 8 — Ned Thompson, 3 

— Emma and Lottie Young, 13 — Edith and Alfred, 9 — Nellie C. Graham, 15 — May Farinholt, 1 — B. Hopkins, 5 — Mamie Hardy and 
Alice Lucas, n — Henry C. Brown, all — Margaret S. Hoffman, 6 — Ernest F. Taylor, 9 — Lilla and Daisy, all — S. C. Thompson, 14 — 
Willie O. Brownfield, 1 — George S. and Carrie, 8 — Dick Bab, 12 — Myrick Rheem, 7 — "Lode Star," n — Mamie L. Mensch, 5 — Laura 
Moss, 5 — "X. Y. Z.,"i2 — May Copeland, 2 — Sophie M. Gieske, 7 — Charlie Wright, 2 — Loulie H. Monroe, 2 — G. E. Hemmons, 3 — < 
Fannie Knobloch, 7 — Estelle Weiler, 3 — Carrie and Mary Speiden, 13 — Three Little Subscribers, 1 — Lulu M. Hutchins, ic — Bessie 
Meade, 8 — P. S. and H. K. Heffleman, 4 — Albert J. Brackett, 7 — Bessie Taylor, 8 — Anna and Alice, 14 — Genie Smith, 6 — Maggie 
Lawrence, 2 — Sanford B. Martin, 1 — Lewis P. Robinson, 2 — Deter and Meter, 14 — Katie Williams, 6 — H. R. Reynolds, 15 — Hope, 11 

— Paul and Jessie, all — Dollie Fry, 3 — Ella M. Parker, 3 — Charles Emerson, 5 — Jennie Morris Moore, 11 — " C. E. B." 3 — Mary Wiehl 
and W. H. Mover, 14 — Faith Walcott, 1 — Rose Irene Raritan, 6 — J. A. Scott, 12 — Bessie C. Barney, 9 — Grace E. Smith, 8 — Lizzie 
Nammack, 8 — Katie Nammack, 4 — George and Frank, 15 — G. T. Maxwell, 15 — Sammie Dodds, all — Gabby, 6 — Florence Wilcox, 15 — 
Belle W. Brown, 9 — Letetia Preston, 5 — Grade Hewlett* all — " Phyllis," 13 — Ned and Loe, all — Williston, 3 — P. S. Clarkson, all — G. J., 
1 — Edith Granger, 7— Charlie W. Power, all — W. and G. L., all — Cig A. Rette, 12 — Edith B. Fowler, 15 — Ella W. Faulkner, 15 — 
"Churck," 15 — Lyde and Will McKinney, 14 — Edward Vultee, all— Chow Chow, 3 — George D. Sabin, 8 — Emma Merrifield, 6 — 
Carl Howden, 6 — Belle F. Upton, 2 — Phebe, Hettie, and Annie, 7 — Clara D. Adams, 4 — Mabel Adams, 3 — Isabel Chambers, 2 
— C. A. Chandler, n — Al. Mond, 13 — Georgia and Lee, 13 — L. H. P., 8 — Pierre Jay, 5 — " Brownie Bee," 12 — " Carl and Norris," 5 — 
"Two Little Bees," 13. Four solvers forgot to sign their names to their letters. The numerals denote the number of puzzles solved. 






"~ r =H - 









[See page 727.] 


Vol. VIII. 

JULY, 1881. 

No. 9. 

[Copyright, 18S1, by Scribner & Co.] 

By H. W. Blake. 

BOBBY was a little tot in dresses, with long " dau- 
burn " curls, as he called them, hanging down on 
his shoulders. He would n't be four years old till 
October ; and yet he had been off on the cars that 
spring day all alone by himself, and without say- 
ing a word to anybody. It all happened because 
Papa had just bought him a velocipede, painted 
black, with red trimmings, and having a cushioned 
seat and a silver-tipped steering-handle. Mamma 
had always said that there were two things which 
Bobby must not do till he was large enough to 
wear trousers, and one was to eat mince-pie and 
the other to ride a velocipede. But every boy 
on the street had a velocipede that spring, and 
there was no peace till Bobby had one, too. Yet 
Mamma never let him take it out of the yard till 
he had promised not to go out of sight of the 
house, and not to race with the other boys. 

Bobby's father was an engineer on the railroad, 
and he was gone from home all day. On the 
morning when this story began to happen, he 
went away early, leaving Mamma with "oceans of 
work" on her hands, — that is, the week's ironing 
was to be finished up and some frosted cake made 
for a little party she was to have that evening ; so 
as soon as Bobby had finished his breakfast, she 
put on his little gray cloak, with the cap to match, 
■ — which had a black tassel in the center, — and his 
red silk neckerchief, and mittens of the same 
color, and sent him out to play with the veloci- 
pede ; then she made the cake while the irons 
were getting hot, going to the door every little 
while to see that Bobby was all right. 

For a time, Bobby remembered all that he had 
promised Mamma, and kept near the house and 

Vol. VIII.— 42. 

did not race ; but after all the other children had 
come out on the walk with their velocipedes, and a 
grand open-to-all race around the square was 
started, he forgot himself, and followed the rest 
just as fast as his little legs could make the wheels 
go. And, what was stranger, Mamma forgot him, 
because, at that very moment, she made the un- 
happy discovery that while her irons were hot, her 
party-cake was burning up. By the time that 
Bobby had turned the first corner of the square, 
the other children were out of sight. He was 
tired, and would have gone home, and this story 
would never have been written. But it so hap- 
pened that he looked down the street a long 
way to where the railroad track crossed the 
road, in front of the big depot, and saw a steam- 
engine ; and then he thought to himself: " I '11 go 
and see Papa," for he had an idea that all engines 
went to the same place, and that any one of them 
would take him straight to Papa; it would be 
fine fun to ride in the cab, on the engineer's seat, 
just as he rode one day when Papa's engine was 
going from the engine-house to the depot. So 
the velocipede flew down the street for the next 
few minutes in a way that made everybody stare. 

But after a while it made a sudden stop, for Bobby 
spied a string of tobacco-pipes hanging in the win- 
dow of a cigar store and he wanted one, because 
he remembered that Papa always had a pipe in his 
mouth when he started for the depot. So he left 
the velocipede leaning against the window, and 
went in and bought a long clay pipe with a yellow 
mouth-piece. The man asked him for a penny, 
and he paid him promptly from the bit of a purse 
which he always carried in the side pocket of his 

6 5 8 



cloak. And when he had put that pipe in his 
mouth, he felt so grand that he marched off for the 
depot, never once thinking of the velocipede. 

When he reached the depot, the engine was 
hitched to a long train of cars, and the engineer 
stood on the ground oiling the machinery with 
a funny, long-spouted oil-can. The steam was 
shooting out of the steam-pipe, and the fireman 
sat in the cab all ready to ring the bell for starting 
the train. Bobby pulled the sleeve of the engi- 
neer's jacket and said, pointing to the cab, " Please 
put me up there ; I want to go and see my papa ! " 
But the engineer shook his head and said, " I 
could n't do that, my little man," and then he 
climbed up to his seat. This was a great disap- 
pointment to Bobby, and I dare say he would have 
cried right out if he had n't seen a man with a pipe 
in his mouth, just like his own, going into the 
third car from the engine. So he thought that that 
must be the place for him. Just how he contrived 
to pull himself up the steps nobody knows, for 
nobody saw him, but when the train moved out of 
the depot he was curled up on the front seat of the 
smoking-car, with the pipe still between his teeth. 

That very same minute, his mamma was hurry- 
ing down Main street, looking very hot and ex- 
ceedingly frightened, asking every one she met, 
" Have you seen my boy on his velocipede ? " 

The burning of that party-cake had so distracted 
the poor woman that she had not thought of Bobby 
for as much as ten minutes after it was out of the 
oven, and then none of the children, who had 
finished their race around the square by this 
time, had the slightest idea what had become of 
him. Neither did anybody else know, although a 
policeman told her that there was an idle veloci- 
pede down by Mr. Carter's cigar store. But all 
that Mr. Carter could tell her was that he had sold 
Bobby a pipe, to be used for blowing soap-bubbles, 
he supposed. 

Mamma was very pale by this time, and her 
mind was full of all the terrible things that might 
possibly happen to Bobby, but she went straight on 
through the crowded streets of the city, till she 
came to the police office at the City Hall. The 
chief of police was very kind to her, and he wrote 
down all that she could tell him about how Bobby 
looked, and what he wore. He said that the City 
Hall bell should be rung to show that a child was 
lost, that all the policemen should look for Bobby 
all over the city, and that if he was n't found within 
two hours, the description he had written out 
should be printed in a hand-bill and posted every- 
where. The big bell in the tower began to ring 
while Mamma went down the steps of the build- 
ing, and it did n't stop until she reached home. 
By this time it was noon and her fire was all out. 

A policeman brought home the velocipede a few 
minutes later, and, when he was gone, Mamma sat 
down and cried. 

"Oh," said she, "where can my Bobby be, and 
what will Papa say when he comes home to- 
night ? " 

Conductor John Blackmer was a good deal sur- 
prised that day when he opened the door of the 
smoking-car on the fast New York express, just 
after leaving Brocton depot, to see Bobby and the 
pipe on the front seat. The little fellow was so 
nicely dressed that if it had n't been for the pipe, 
one would have supposed that he had just escaped 
from the infant class of some Sunday-school. The 
conductor stopped to ask him some questions, but 
the youngster was feeling his importance consider- 
ably just then, and about all that could be got out 
of him was that he intended to "see Papa"; so 
the conductor went on through the train, and he 
asked the passengers, while he was punching holes 
in their tickets, whose little boy that was in the 
smoking-car; but, of course, nobody knew. Then 
he went back to Bobby, and said : 

" Who are you, anyhow ? " 

"Well," answered he, "my name is Bobby 
Bradish, and I live at 27 Garden street; my 
papa's name is Buxton Bradish ; he is an engineer, 
and they call him ' Buck ' Bradish, for short ! " 

All this was a speech that he had been taught to 
say at home, and one that always made Papa 

The conductor knew "Buck" Bradish well, al- 
though he worked on another railroad ; and he 
also knew what to do with Bobby. He first per- 
suaded the young man to let him put the pipe into 
the side pocket of his own coat, to keep it from 
breaking, and then he carried him in his arms to 
the parlor-car, which was the next one in front of 
the smoking-car, and put him down in one of the 
big, red, stuffed chairs. He was facing a kind- 
looking lady, who got him to tell her about Mamma 
and Papa, and the velocipede. And when the boy 
with books and papers to sell came along, she 
bought for Bobby a children's magazine, and showed 
him the pictures ; and also a little candy, — all, she 
was sure, Mamma would be willing he should eat. 
She made Bobby feel that the parlor-car was a 
much nicer place to ride in than the smoking-car. 

It was twenty-five miles from Brocton to Sher- 
man, where the express trains stopped next. 
When the conductor came into the car to take 
Bobby out, the little boy asked if his papa was 
there. The conductor told him that Papa was not 
there, but that he himself would take him to a 
lady who would tell him how to find Papa. Then 
he carried him across a track and into the depot, 
saying to a young lady who stood behind a door 



that had a hole cut in it just large enough for 
Bobby to see her face, "Here he is." And she 
smiled, and, opening the door, said, " Bring him 
right in." So the conductor put Bobby on the 
lounge that stood behind the door, and the next 
minute he was gone off on the train. 

It was the funniest little room Bobby had ever 
seen, — hardly wide enough to turn around in. 
There was one sunny window in it that looked out 
on the railroad. While Bobby was looking around 
him, the lady sat down at a table, having some 
very curious-looking machinery on it, and played 
with her fingers on a black button that moved up 
and down on a spring, and made a clicking noise ; 
and when the bird heard the clicking noise, he 
sang as though his throat would split. You see 
that it was a telegraph-office in which Conductor 
Blackmer had left Bobby, and that this lady was 
sending Mamma word where Bobby was ; and 
when she had finished playing on the button, she 
came and sat on the lounge, and took Bobby in 
her lap ; then she explained to him that his papa 
had gone a long way off on another railroad, and 
that he could not see him till night; also, that 
Conductor Blackmer would come back with his 
train by and by, and take him home ; and that he 
must be a good boy while he staid with her, and 
he would find both Papa and Mamma waiting for 
him in the depot at home. And when she was 
sure that the little boy understood it all, it was 
dinner-time. You see, Conductor Blackmer had 
written a letter while he was on the cars, telling all 
about Bobby, and had given it to her as soon as 
the train stopped, so that she would know what 
to do with the little boy ; and he had also written 
a message for her to telegraph to Mamma. 

All this time, Mamma was sitting in the kitchen 
at home, crying as though her heart were broken. 
She did not even notice that the fire was out and 
her irons were cold ; she was so troubled because 
Bobby was lost. But she started up very quickly 
when the front- door bell rang, and was a good 
deal surprised to find that a telegraph-boy had 
brought her a message ; there could be no mistake 
about it, for on the envelope were the words, 
" Mrs. Buxton Bradish, 27 Garden street, Brocton, 
Connecticut." So she opened it, and this was what 
the message said: 

"Sherman, Connecticut, April 5th. 1S75. 
" Bobby is all right. Will bring him home at 6. 30 this evening. 

"John Blackmer, 
" Conductor New York Express." 

Mamma wiped away her tears in a hurry when 
she had read the message, and asked the boy to 

come in while she wrote a note, informing the 
chief of police that Bobby was at last found. 
And then she began to make up a new fire in the 
kitchen stove ; and when the fire was lit she put 
away the ironing and made a new party-cake. 

The lady who staid in the Sherman telegraph- 
office boarded at a large hotel across the road from 
the depot, and it was there that she took Bobby to 
dinner. Her friends stared a good deal when they 
saw her leading him through the long dining-room, 
but the waiter ran for a high chair and a bib, and 
the little boy enjoyed himself very much. After 
dinner, the lady went to a toy store and bought 
him some "sliced animals," and after they had 
gone back to the office, she showed him how to 
put the pasteboard strips together so as to make 
pictures of the lion, tiger, sheep, etc. Then she 
read him a story from the magazine which the 
other lady had given him on the train, and then 
Bobby fell asleep on the lounge. But he was wide 
awake when Conductor Blackmer came to take 
him, and the lady gave Bobby a good hug and 
a kiss before she let him go. The conductor put 
the magazine and the sliced animals in his over- 
coat pocket, and placed Bobby on a seat in the 
passenger-car. And when he had finished collect- 
ing tickets, he took him on his knee and told him 
stories about his own little children at home. 

Papa's train came into the Brocton depot at six 
o'clock, half an hour earlier than the one Bobby 
was on. Mamma was there to meet him, and he 
was very much astonished to hear what had been 
going on. 

When the New York express train came in, 
the first man who got off was Conductor Black- 
mer, with Bobby in his arms. And when Papa 
and Mamma had heard the whole story of Bobby's 
trip to Sherman, the conductor handed him over to 
them "safe and sound," along with the magazine, 
the sliced animals, and the pipe. 

There was a very happy party at 27 Garden 
street that evening. Bobby was allowed to sit at the 
table and have a piece of the party-cake. 

He is a large boy now, but he still remem- 
bers how he ran away to find Papa. And if you 
should go into the parlor of his house, you would 
see three photographs in the same frame. One of 
them is the picture of a little boy on a velocipede, 
another, that of John Blackmer, conductor of the 
New York express, and the third, that of the lady 
who stays in the Sherman telegraph-office. And 
over these pictures there is placed a clay pipe, with 
a yellow mouth-piece ; a pipe that has never been 






By Sarah J. Burke. 

Thanksgiving is all well enough in its way, 
Against Christmas and New-Year I 've nothing 
to say, 
But my dog and the fellows and I, — 
That is, all the fellows who have any spunk, 
Who save up for months to buy powder and punk, 
And keep fire-crackers hid in my old leather 
trunk, — 
We just live for the Fourth of July ! 

Tom stays at his aunt's, near the end of the lane ; 
Her house is quite fine but she 's hateful as Cain ; 

And I 'm going to tell what she said, 
One day when my dog and the fellows and I 
Had gone to Tom's house to spend Fourth of July, 
And thought, being under her window, we 'd try 

To be quiet as mice, or the dead. 

We said " Hurrah ! " softly, for fear she 'd be mad ; 
We set off the littlest cannon we had, 

As under the bushes we hid ; 
Tom screamed " Do be quiet ! " at each little 

And when my dog yelped as he tore up the ground, 
To bring me a piece of a cracker he 'd found, 

I cried " Lie down, sir ! " And he did. 

Yes, he did every time — but 't was all of no use ; 

When folks want to find fault they can make an 

excuse ; 

So she popped her head out through the vines 

And cried: "Tom, your father shall hear about 

To put up with this longer is more than I '11 do — 
Come into the house, sir, and send off the crew 
That are spoiling my flowers and lines ! 

" Independence, indeed ! I 'd rather, I say, 
Be under the rule of Great Britain to-day, 

Than subjected to noises I hate ! " 
Oh ! sharper than crackers the cruel words rang, 
And quickly the window went down with a bang, 
As up from the bushes my brave old dog sprang, 

And followed me out of the gate. 

She 's as cross an old party as ever could be ! 
She insulted my dog and the fellows and me, 

And though they may forgive her, I can't ! 
No, I can't — and, besides that, I don't mean to 

try — 
And next year my dog and the fellows and I 
Will go off on the rocks to spend Fourth of July, 

With no thanks to Tom or his aunt ! 



By George H. Hebard. 

Poor old Mr. Preface was tired, — not that he 
had been particularly busy, — no, that was the pity 
of it. Time had been when every caller at Dic- 
tionary Mansion had, first of all, paid their 
respects to him ; in return, he imparted to each 
new visitor such little hints and general information 
as its founder, Mr. Webster, had thought they 
might need to aid them in their researches. 

But, alas! those days were of the past! In the 
rush and hurry of modern American life, people 
could not wait to confer with him. There were 
constant callers at the mansion with whom he had 
never interchanged a word, — people who rushed 
through the halls, found the room of the Word 
they desired to consult, made their inquiries, and 
then bolted unceremoniously. All this worried 
Mr. Preface very much, for was he not an old and 
faithful servant ? Mr. Webster himself had given 
him the position of janitor when Dictionary Man- 
sion was first completed. It was comparatively a 
small house then ; and through all its changes to 
the present enormous structure, with its number- 
less lodgers, he had remained faithfully at his post. 

These were a few of the sad thoughts occupying 
his attention one night as he sat restlessly in his 
arm-chair, wearied with enforced idleness. It was 
rather late for him, too. He usually closed the 
doors early in the evening ; but, that night, Orator 
Puff was to speak at the Town Hall, and had en- 
gaged many of the biggest Words to assist him, 
and Mr. Preface was awaiting their return. 

Meanwhile, the poor old fellow was slowly go- 
ing over his sorrowful thoughts, when he was 
suddenly startled by a scream. It evidently came 
from a distant part or the building. Going into 
the hall, he found it rapidly filling with excited 
Words, anxious to know the cause of the alarm. 
As the commotion appeared greatest in the corridor 
of the "U's," he hurried there, and soon found 
himself at the room of little Mr. Up. Crowding 
past Curiosity, who stood vacantly staring through 
the door, he saw the body of the little lodger lying 
prostrate on the floor. Bending over him were 
Pity and Sympathy, vainly trying to bring him to 

Miss Upas, the lady who lived in the adjoining 
chamber, gave this explanation : Her neighbor 
had come home unusually late that evening. 
After hearing him close his door, she felt the jar 
of some one falling. Hurrying to his room, she 
discovered him lying on the floor, apparently dead, 

and, in her terror, she gave the piercing scream 
which alarmed the house. Mr. Aid was the first 
to appear on the scene, and was doing all he could 
to revive the sufferer. 

When Up had sufficiently recovered, he told his 
story, as follows : 

" Mine is simply a case of nervous and bodily 
exhaustion, caused by constant overwork. There 
has not been a night for the last two years that I 
have not come home so utterly fagged out that it 
seemed as if I never could begin my endless 
labor again. Ever since the Jones family came to 
this town, my services have been in constant 
demand from early dawn till late at night. It 
appears there is hardly an idea in their heads but 
they think my presence necessary for its expres- 
sion. For instance, there is Father Jones. At first 
cock-crow, he 'wakes up'; then 'gets up' and 
' makes up ' the fire ; ' does up ' his chores ; 
' blacks up ' his boots ; ' eats up ' whatever his 
wife ' cooks up ' for breakfast ; ' goes up ' to the 
store ; ' figures up ' the cash account ; ' buys up ' 
more goods ; ' marks up ' the prices ; ' fills up ' the 
orders ; ' foots up ' the profits ; ' shuts up ' the 
store; 'dresses up' for dinner; 'sits up' awhile 
afterward, calling for my assistance continually, 
until he ' locks up ' the house for the night and 
' shuts up ' his eyes in slumber. 

"At the same time Miss Fanny 'dresses up'; 
' does up ' her hair; 'takes up ' her book ; 'gets 
herself up ' in her lesson ; ' hunts up ' her bonnet ; 
' hurries up ' to school ; ' catches up ' with a 
school-mate ; ' stands up ' to recite ; ' passes up ' to 
the head of the class ; ' flushes up ' at the praise 
of her teacher ; ' divides up ' her luncheon at 
recess ; and, as she ' rides up ' home in the horse- 
car, ' makes up ' her mind to 'be up ' at the 
head of the school ere the term is ' up.' 

"Tommy Jones 'runs up' to the store on an 
errand ; ' trips up ' over a stick; cries out that he is 
all 'bruised up,' until his mother 'bandages up' 
his knee, and ' hugs him up ' a dozen times, and 
tells him to ' keep up ' good courage, and try to 
' cheer up.' 

"And so it is the long, long, weary day. I go 
from one to the other until I can scarcely totter. 
Nor would I complain even now if I thought my 
help were really needed. But there is the Brown 
family living next door; they are certainly quite as 
active as the Joneses, and, as they seldom require 
my services, I can only think that my presence on 




every occasion (for it can not fairly be called assist- 
ance) is not indispensable, as the Joneses seem to 

" Shameful, shameful ! " was the indignant com- 
ment of the group of listeners, as Up finished his 

Said Incomprehensibility : " I scarcely can believe 
the Joneses to be so cruel as to abuse such a little 
man as Up like that. Just think of it — only two 
letters high ! And here am I, a very giant among 
Words, and yet have only been called out once 
for a month ! Then it was for a spelling at a 
public school, and I was immediately dismissed. 
Why could not the work be more evenly distrib- 
uted among us ? " 

" You have spoken my sentiments exactly," said 
Procrastination. "We ought to labor according to 
our size. My only work this week was in serving 
for an hour as writing-copy for Tommy Jones. I 
was very glad to be put to use, although the teacher 
did say I was a ' thief of time.' " 

"Let us hold an indignation meeting," sug- 
gested another. "We can at least protest against 
such barbaric cruelty and injustice." 

The idea met with favor, and the fast-increasing 
assemblage adjourned without delay to the main 
hall of the building, whither all the other inmates 
were soon summoned. Arbiter was chosen mod- 
erator, in acknowledgment of his wisdom, and be- 
cause of his reputation as a settler of disputes. 
Vice-presidents were selected from Scripture proper 
names, abbreviations, and noted names of fiction, 
and Record elected secretary. The meeting being 
duly organized, the chairman announced the busi- 
ness to come before it, giving a brief but spirited 
account of Up's history and sufferings. 

He was followed by Argument, an old and ex- 
perienced debater who had spent much time in 
court, and was noted chiefly for always being on 
the contrary side. For this once, however, he hap- 
pily agreed with the prevailing opinion. Said he : 

"No doubt the Americans are a well-meaning 
race. But they are extremely careless and seldom 
think. And no doubt the Joneses are, at this very 

moment, serenely sleeping in utter unconsciousness 
of the pain and misery which their dullness has 
inflicted upon poor little Up. Of course they mean 
to do right, and would not knowingly injure any 
one. But that is a poor excuse. Now these 
same Americans have a society for the prevention 
of cruelty to animals. They seem to be in greater 
need of a society for the prevention of cruelty to 
the English language, a society whose rigid laws 
should be strictly enforced. Perhaps my words 
seem strong, but, my friends, Up's case is not an 
unusual one. I see before me even now two 
Words, You and Know, who have had an equally 
bitter experience. Whenever some people summon 
us to the aid of their ideas, You and Know are 
hitched in with the other Words. Sometimes they 
trot before and sometimes behind. In either case, 
while they do not help the expressions, but are 
rather a hindrance, they become quite as fatigued 
as if doing regular and proper work. Now, if Mr. 
Jones, for instance, should see a pair of horses used 
in the same way, he would at once set down their 
driver as an idiot, if not something worse. But 
the two cases are not unlike, although our unthink- 
ing friends seem not to perceive this." 

Another speaker thought that, " As the Joneses 
and others have probably never looked at the 
subject in that light, it might be that if it were so 
presented to them they would see the justice of the 
complaint and offend no more. I should, therefore, 
move, Mr. Chairman, that our friend Preface 
should be appointed a committee of one to call 
their attention to the matter, and urge a reform." 

At this point, Mr. Preface arose and addressed 
the meeting in a sorrowful manner. He thought 
the appeal should be spread far and wide by some 
able and influential advocate. Reminding his 
hearers of his own neglected position and waning 
powers, he moved to amend by having an account 
of the whole affair sent to the St. Nicholas for 

The amendment being accepted, the resolution 
as amended was passed by a unanimous vote, after 
which the meeting adjourned. 




By David Ker. 


A QUIET little village is Adelsberg, so hidden 
away among the mountains of Southern Austria 
that it might never have been heard of but for its 
famous " Grotto," which is what every one comes 
to visit. Just beyond the village, you see a great 
black tunnel in the hill-side, from which rushes a 
foaming river ; and into this tunnel you go. 

At first you seem to be entering some great 
cathedral, with a vast black dome overhead, and 
high, wide arches all around ; and the lights that 
mark the way seem to be mere sparks. But 
the path turns suddenly upward, through a dark 
rock-gallery, the roar of an unseen river below 
growing fainter as you ascend. The guides light 
their torches, and the glare shows you many 
strange things in passing — palms, cypresses, wil- 
lows, outstretched hands and turbaned heads, 
dogs, parrots, monkeys — all so life-like in the 
flickering light that, you think, the best sculptor 
might be proud of them. But no sculptor has ever 
chiseled these ; they are formed by the solid parti- 

cles in the water that drops from the roof, and 
keeps up a constant " tick-tick " all around. 

Here extends a crimson-edged curtain, forty feet 
long, every fold distinct, but all stone. We come 
upon a crowd of strange-looking people, seemingly 
waiting for some one ; but they have been waiting 
there for ages — they, too, are of stone. One guide 
taps a stalactite with his stick, and it chimes like 
a bell; another shouts, and his shout echoes like 
organ music far away. 

Suddenly, we come out upon a level floor, set with 
tables and benches ; and the guides tell us that 
every year the village-folk have a dance and supper 
down here, and that the Emperor himself attended 
one of these under-ground balls not long ago ! 
From this point, rails have been laid for a mile 
and a half, and passengers may be pushed along 
them in trucks — a sort of street-car line under- 
ground ! 

But the side-gallery for foot-passengers is a 
startling place for a walk. It runs along the very 




brink of a precipice, with no protection but a low 
hand-rail, from the black depths below. Far, far 
down, the river can be heard growling and mut- 
tering among its broken rocks. Half-way along 
this ledge, a sudden glitter breaks through the 
darkness, and, hanging right over the precipice, 
appears a monster stalactite, more than fifty feet 
long by twelve thick. It has been forming for 

A little beyond the " Diamond Grotto " (as this 
passage is called) the cave formerly ended ; but the 
guides having noticed that the rock sounded hollow 
in one place, a boring was made, and a second 
cave was discovered, almost as large as the first. 
The whole mountain is honey-combed with these 
under-ground streets, which may be seen winding 
away on every side ; there are several of them into 
which no one has dared to venture, but many 
marvels are seen in others. There are the " Lean- 
ing Tower"; the "Gallery of Statues," along 
which you see a row of veiled figures standing on 
the very edge of a deep black pit, and bending for- 
ward as if just about to fling themselves in, head- 
foremost; and the " Dropping Fountain," beneath 
which has been formed in the course of ages the 

exact likeness of an enormous sea-shell, with all 
its ribs and hollows perfectly marked. 

A little farther on, you come to the "Frozen 
Water-fall " — a strange sight indeed. At the first 
glance, the whole side of the grotto seems to be 
one great sheet of dashing water and boiling foam, 
but without the slightest sound. You look again, 
and you see that it is half stone and half ice, 
glittering like silver in the blaze of the torches, but 
noiseless and motionless as moonlight. And now, 
at the very end of the cave, you come upon the 
last and most curious sight of all. 

This farthest recess is called the "Polar Grotto," 
and very polar it looks. Winter everywhere : in 
the bare white floor, which might well pass for a 
waste of eternal snow ; in the monster " icicles " that 
hang overhead; in the pillars of ribbed " ice " that 
stand all around, with gloomy hollows between; in 
the aching chill that strikes to one's very bones 
before one has stood there half a minute. And 
here, as if to complete the picture, rises a huge 
snow-drift, upon which stands an enormous white 
bear, turning his back upon everybody in a very 
unsocial way, as if he did not approve of being 
disturbed in his den by a parcel of sight-seers. 

bob: "hallo! what 



66 5 

By David D. Lloyd. 

It is painful to think that any bird could be 
really wicked ; for birds — especially chubby birds 
— almost always seem good and innocent, and look 
as if their fat little breasts grew so because there 
were warm little hearts inside. And a bird has a 
way of looking you straight in the face with his 
bright little eye, that makes you believe he is 
honest and is not ashamed of it. Birds have made 
a splendid record in the world. I never knew a 
bird to tell a lie, excepting this bad bird, and cer- 
tainly no bird was ever known to rob a bank, or 
forge a check. 

But, sad as it is to think so, there have been bad 
birds, and this one, whose story I am about to tell, 
was so very bad that, in fairness toward the rest of 
the birds, it should be understood that he was very 
unlike them. The fact is, he was a downright 
cheat. He was nothing but a common blackbird, 
who had never been to school a day in his life, and 
yet he set himself up for a bird-doctor, called him- 
self Dr. Black, and put on all sorts of medical airs. 
He even went so far as to pretend that he was a 
crow, and had studied medicine, and been made 
a doctor at the famous Crow College out West, 
although he had never so much as seen it. 

Perhaps you have never heard of Crow College 
before ? Well, that is not strange, for if I had not 
had some very highly educated birds among my 
friends, I believe I should never have heard of it 
myself. A great deal depends upon the kind of 
birds you associate with. It is a college where 
crows study to be doctors. (The bird-doctors are 
always crows — did you know that?) There are 
forty teachers in the college, all of them crows, 
very learned and very black, and the head of the 
faculty is a solemn old raven, who came over from 
the Raven University in Arabia just to be the head 
of this college. He is so old that he can't remem- 
ber how many hundred years it is since he was 
born, and, as he has never been known to open 
his mouth, excepting to eat, he is believed by every- 
body to be wonderfully wise. 

The college classes meet in the upper branches 
of the trees in a great Western forest. If you 
passed by there, you would think, of course, that 
it was merely a flock of noisy crows chattering 
together. But if you could see up to the tops of 
the trees, you would see the old raven dozing, with 
his spectacles on his nose, and the teachers ex- 
plaining, all at once, about the bones and veins of 
birds and their tiny diseases, and all the classes 

studying hard, like good little crows. But there is 
one sad thing about the Crow College. Crow- 
doctors have trouble sometimes in getting paid, 
and, as crows must live, there is one crow-professor 
who gives his whole time to teaching the best way 
to steal corn. And I am sorry to add that the 
corn-class is always the largest class of all. 

The way Dr. Black set himself up in practice 
will show you what a clever little rogue he was. 
Have you ever seen Stuyvesant Square, in New 
York? A good many of you must have seen it. 
It is one of the oldest parks in the city; St. 
George's Church stands beside it, and away up in 
the great towers of the church, the clock strikes 
every few minutes with a gentle, friendly sound, as 
if it were telling the children playing below that 
another quarter of an hour has gone, and they 
must enjoy all the hours and minutes that are left. 

In this pleasant old park, there is a fount- 
ain, and in the fountain there is a little raft of 
wood about a foot square. This raft is anchored 
with a stone, and one end runs under the water 
just enough to let the birds skip down upon it into 
the water and have a splendid bath, and skip back 
upon the dry part of the board. Now it so hap- 
pened that the park policeman was putting a new 
raft in its place when Dr. Black came flying over 
the park. That caught his wicked little eye, and 
he stopped ; he alighted on a tree right at the edge 
of the fountain and seemed to be thinking very 
hard. It was a sign that he was doing this when 
he scratched himself as near to his head as he 
could get with his foot, and he scratched himself 
several times. 

Finally, when his mind seemed to be made up, 
and the policeman had gone away, Dr. Black flew 
down to the board and stood on it. Meanwhile, 
he carefully stroked his feathers until he looked so 
smooth, so black, and so respectable that you 
would have said he was a bird-doctor, the minute 
you looked at him, and you would have thought 
him one of the most respectable birds alive. Now, 
down came the sparrows for their bath ; they had 
been waiting, and they were impatient. Who was 
this dark stranger standing in their way? They 
flew around and around him, chirping to one 
another, and wondering, in their little brains, what 
it could all mean ; and all the while, Dr. Black 
stood on the board, silent and black, and pretend- 
ing to take no notice of them whatever ; but he 
was watching them all the time, you may be sure. 




Finally, the bravest of the sparrows — it was a little 
lady-sparrow — alighted on the board. She was so 
anxious to know who this strange-looking bird was, 
that she could n't stand it any longer. Dr. Black 
bowed to her very politely, and, putting his best 
and blackest claw foremost, he said he was very 
glad to see her ; that he had built this bath at 
great expense, and hoped that the birds of the 
neighborhood would patronize him liberally. He 
was a doctor, he said, and had studied at Crow 
College — the little scamp ! 

together, the Mayor and the other city officers 
meet and make up their minds how it must be 
spent. Some of it goes to pay the firemen, — the 
brave men who put out fires and save people's 
lives ; some of it to pay the policemen ; some of it 
to pay men for keeping the streets clean ; some of 
it for the meat the lions and tigers eat in Central 
Park, and some of it for the little baths for the 
sparrows. So, you see that when Dr. Black said 
he had paid for that bath, he had told what the 
boys call a "whopper." 


Little Mrs. Sparrow was greatly amazed. The 
bath had always been free before ; why was n't it 
free now ? But Dr. Black soon made her believe 
that the bath had always belonged to him, though 
he had never charged anything for the use of it, 
because he loved to do good to his fellow-birds. 
But now — and here he gave his breast a little 
heave and pretended to wipe a tear from his eye — 
he had been unlucky ; he had lost his money, and 
he was forced, in his old age, to work to get 
enough to eat. Here the little humbug turned 
away from Mrs. Sparrow, and worked his shoulders 
up and down in such a way that she, kind-hearted 
little thing, thought he was sobbing hard. The 
truth was he was winking to himself at the 
thought of his own smartness, and thinking what a 
soft-hearted little lady-bird she was. 

Perhaps you don't know where these little baths 
for the sparrows come from. Well, every year 
every man in New York who owns a house pays 
some money to the city. This is what is called 
paying taxes. When all the money has been put 

But little Mrs. Sparrow believed it all. Dear me ! 
Sparrows never will be able to understand politics. 
She flew to her friends and told them all about 
Dr. Black. She said that he charged very little 
for the use of the bath. He would take worms, or 
pieces of cake or bread, or almost anything good 
to eat. You see, the Doctor was hungry, although 
he did n't tell Mrs. Sparrow so. She said, too, 
that he was a splendid doctor, and when her hus- 
band, Mr. D. Thomas Sparrow, asked her how she 
knew, she said that she was n't going to be talked 
to as if she were a mere child and did n't know 
anything. She knew he was a splendid doctor. 
Anyhow, he had beautiful black eyes ! 

What do you suppose happened ? There was a 
most alarming outbreak of sickness among the 
birds. They had been the healthiest, sturdiest 
sparrows in the world before — fat and chubby, and 
with tremendous appetites. But now there were 
invalids on all sides, among the lady-sparrows. 
And so, sly Dr. Black soon had all the patients he 
wanted, and all the fees he could eat. He became 




the fashion, and no lady-sparrow felt that she was 
doing her duty to society unless it was known that 
he was her physician. 

The gentleman-sparrows of the Square made 
a great deal of fun about all this. They did n't 
believe in Dr. Black, and said so, and very few of 
them went to his bath. It was a strange scene in 
the mornings when Dr. Black received his patients. 
He looked so wise and grave, and pushed the little 
birds into the water with such a polite way, and 
made such handsome bows when they paid him his 
crumbs. Meanwhile, the nurses and children who 
were in the park would be very much astonished 
to see fifteen or twenty little gentleman-sparrows 
sitting around the edge of the fountain and trying 
to sneer. Yes, to sneer. It is not an easy thing 
to do, for the gentleman-sparrow is usually a good- 
natured, nice little fellow. When he does try to 
sneer, the effect is very dreadful, and if you had 
been there, you also might have been astonished. 

But one morning there was a new sensation 
among the sparrow colony in Stuyvesant Square. 
A young gentleman-sparrow, who had been a great 
traveler, had arrived, and there was as much of a 
stir in the best sparrow circles as an English duke 
or a French nobleman could make in higher soci- 
ety. You see, these city sparrows usually stay in 
the park where they are born. Very few of the 
birds in Stuyvesant Square knew that there was 
any world beyond Third Avenue, and so when this 
young gentleman came who had crossed the city 
five times to the Battery, and had once actually 
spent a whole summer in New Jersey, he was 
looked upon as a sort of explorer, and treated with 
great respect. They called him Mr. Jersey Spar- 
row, as a nice way of reminding people how far he 
had traveled. But he took care that nobody should 
ever forget it. He was always talking of the 
strange places he had seen, and spoke Sparrow 
language with a foreign accent ; and the way he 
turned out his toes was almost French. He was a 
very vain little bird, and it vexed him to hear all 
the lady-sparrows, who seemed to admire him, 
talking so much about this Dr. Black. Secretly, 
his little breast filled with envy of Dr. Black, who 
was said to be such a handsome crow and such a 
wise doctor. 

So, one morning, Mr. Jersey Sparrow appeared 
at the fountain. 

" Why," said he, " he 's not a crow ! A crow is 
three times as big as that ! " 

Dr. Black was a little frightened, for he knew 
this was not a stay-at-home sparrow that he must 
deal with now. But, like a wise bird, he said 
nothing, and tried to look as if he thought it was 
not worth while to notice this loud young person. 

" Why," said Mr. Jersey Sparrow, scanning him 
closely, " he 's nothing but a blackbird ! " 

What a buzz and chatter went up from the spar- 
row colony ! The little gentleman-sparrows all 
began to shake their heads and say they had always 
declared there was something wrong about this 
Dr. Black, while the little lady-sparrows divided 
into two parties. The lady-sparrows who had 
admired Mr. Jersey Sparrow most agreed that it 
was a shame a mere blackbird should have made 
them all believe he was a crow. But other lady- 
sparrows, headed by the little Mrs. Sparrow whom 
the Doctor had first welcomed to his bath-float, 
and who had ever since been his special friend, 
stood by him and declared that they knew he was 
a crow, though not one of the kind-hearted little 
things had ever seen a crow in her life ! 

By this time, Mr. Jersey Sparrow was very much 
worked up. He strutted up and down the edge of 
the fountain, and his little body shook with excite- 
ment. Finally, he screamed out : " If he is a crow, 
let him say, ' Caw ! ' Let him say ' Caw ! ' " 

"Can he say 'Caw'?" the Doctor's party mur- 
mured among themselves anxiously, and little Mrs. 
Sparrow said softly in the Doctor's ear, "Do say 
' Caw ! ' I 'm sure you can ! " But Mr. Jersey 
Sparrow and his friends chattered in a mocking 
way, "Yes, let him say 'Caw!' We should like 
to hear him say ' Caw ! ' " 

If Dr. Black had been very wise indeed, he 
would still have kept silence, and scorned the 
charge that he was not a crow. A good many of 
the birds would have believed him, in spite of 
everything and everybody. That has often been 
the way, with birds as well as men. But a wild 
idea seized him. Perhaps he could say " Caw," if 
he tried hard ! He swelled up his little lungs till 
his eyes stood out, and — tried. 

How some of the sparrows laughed, and others' 
faces fell, and Mr. Jersey Sparrow strutted around ! 
The " Caw " was something between a squeal and 
a squawk, a harsh cry unlike any crow's caw 
that was ever heard. Dr. Black saw that the 
game was lost. He stretched his wings, gave 
his raft a spiteful little push with his foot, and 
sailed up into the air, up, up — even over the great 
church towers and out of sight, leaving the as- 
tonished birds looking up into the sky, and 
wondering whether he had flown quite away from 
the world. 

It is a curious fact in bird-nature that a great 
many of those innocent sparrows believed to the 
day of their deaths that Dr. Black was a great 
scientist and a most learned crow, and always 
declared that he had been driven away from them 
by ingratitude and persecution. 



I " 



By M. E. Wilkins. 

' ' Rock-a-bye, Baby, upon the tree-top ; 
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock ; 
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall. 
And down will come Baby, cradle, and all." 

Sing a song to the baby, Lark; 

Sing a song to the baby, Sparrow ; 
Merrily, oh, on the green hill-side, 

The buttercups dance with the branching 

The red cows stand by the glassy pool ; 

The little white lambs round their dams 
are skipping; 
And daintily over the grassy knolls, 

I see the fair little shepherdess tripping. 

Rock-a-bye, Baby, upon the tree-top ; 

>i£?" And sing a song to the 
darling, Swallow; 

The rooks fly over the abbey-towers, 

And, 'mong themselves, I hear them talking. 

The monks are tinkling their silver bells; 

And what do you think the rooks are say- 
There 's a baby, up in a tree, like a bird, 

His silken nest on a green bough swaying." 

The green leaves whisper unto thee, Sweet; 

Beautiful secrets over and over ; 
I am so happy — and yonder field 

Is humming with bees, and sweet with 

The monks are tinkling their silver bells ; 

Their strong young gardener trundles the bar- 
row — 
Sing to the baby, Swallow, sing ; 

Sing to the baby, Lark and Sparrow. 

A bee was trapped when the sun went down, 
For he staid too long in the lily-hollow. 

I have slung thee, Love, in a silken scarf, 
The west wind blows, to set thee rocking; 

In the abbey-garden, the gardener spades 

Around the roses, and helps their growing ; 
He is thinking of thee, and he 's thinking of 
And the sweet rose-leaves in his face are blowing. 




KW?W\\f>\t ^3 Ci" 01 " 1 1 5 "* fy c ftwims-raihet] 'Main flic tret'/ 


Rock-a-bye, Baby, upon the tree-top, 

Thou and the leaflets are just beginning; 

Spring lingereth yet with her dear rose-buds, 
And I will sing to thee over my spinning. 

I have set the spinning-wheel 'neath the tree, 
May be the baby will like the whirring ; 

Merrily, oh, in thy cradle, swing, 

The young green leaves at thy side are 

I shall spin a frock for thee, Baby dear; 

The buttercups, oh, they are growing longer. 
The baby shall run o'er the grassy fields, 

One day, when his plump little legs are 

We will strew the rough roads with violets 

With rags of roses and shreds of clover ; 
All for the sake of the soft little feet, 

The cruel stones shall be covered over. 

Sway softly, Love, in thy silken nest ; 

Tenderly life around thee closes, 
And never a sting shall it bring to thee, 

For thy mother will always thorn thy roses. 

Rock-a-bye in thy cradle, Sweet, 

The mother-bird from her nest is calling — 
What 's this ? — ah me ! the green bough 

And my darling baby, alas ! is falling — 

A cowled monk peered from the abbey-wall ; 

The startled birds, overhead, were flying, 
And the gardener trampled a rose-bush down, 

In his haste to get to his baby crying. 

The cowled monk turned to his glowing page, 

And painted a cherub with rays of glory ; 
The wife and the gardener fondled and 
And a smile from the baby endeth the 






By Charles Barnard. 

Sarah Bates lived in New York Harbor. She 
slept in Oldport, New Jersey, went to school in New 
York City, and studied her lessons or helped her 
mother at housekeeping in the great bay behind 
Sandy Hook. Altogether, she lived over a great 
deal of space for one so young; more singular 
still, her father's house traveled more than fifty 
miles every day, stopping at night in Oldport, New 
Jersey, and spending the day at New York, or 
somewhere between these places. Sarah's chamber 
window sometimes looked out on the sea, and 
sometimes the trees cast pretty shadows on the 
carpet in the moonlight. At other times she had 
to keep the blinds closed, for there was a wide and 
noisy city street directly in front of the house. 
Her mother's kitchen and dining-room, her father's 
office, and all the other rooms, traveled, also, 
and it did seem as if the entire household estab- 
lishment was always moving. For all that, it was 
a quiet and orderly household. Everything went 
on precisely as in any ordinary house, but the house 
itself and all the people in it had this singular 
habit of traveling from place to place every day 
in the week, excepting Sunday. On Sundays, the 
house stood still at Oldport, New Jersey, and Sarah 
went to the village church and sang in the choir, 
very much as any good country girl might do. 

Sarah had been born on the move, and had 
been brought up on the go. For all that, she was 
a very steady girl. Her father's house might travel 
about, as much as it pleased, but you always knew 
just where to find Sarah. She was a quiet girl, — 
not talkative, — and trustworthy. Being the only 
child, and living nearly all the time in a moving 
house, and away from other children, she had 
grown up in the society of people much older than 
herself. She was her father's own girl, and, from 
the time she had been able to talk and walk, had 
been with him about his business. The family 
consisted of her father and mother and Sarah. 
There were also four men, who were in her father's 
employ, and they all lived together in the same 
house. Her father and mother had the best room 
upstairs ; Sarah's room was next to theirs ; the 
kitchen and dining-room were down-stairs, near 
her father's office ; two of the men who lived with 
them had a room apiece, and the other two had a 
room between them. To get from Sarah's room 
to the kitchen, or dining-room and office, you had 
to go out-of-doors on a narrow piazza that extended 
all round the house ; but none of the family seemed 

to mind this, as it was very airy and healthful. 
There were several other rooms in the house, 
together with a small cellar, and a cupola on top 
of the house. This was a square room, with win- 
dows on every side, and comfortably carpeted, and 
provided with a large sofa. All parts of the house 
were warmed by steam in winter, and in summer 
the piazzas were shaded by canvas awnings. 

To understand this rather queer household, you 
must know that Sarah's father was called the cap- 
tain ; one of the men — Mr. Cramp — was called the 
mate ; one of the other men was known as the 
engineer; the other was called the fireman, and 
the last man — Jake Flanders by name — was known 
as the deck-hand. The house itself was named 
the " Mary and Sarah," and the name was painted 
in big white letters on the side of the house. 

It was almost five when Sarah awoke that morn- 
ing, and the sun was already up. She had been 
awaked by the noise the fireman made in stirring 
up his fire below, in the boiler-room, and she sat 
up and looked through the window. Just in front 
of the house was the river, and beyond it the grassy 
banks, with some cattle grazing in the fields, while 
the sun shone like a ball of silver through the 
rising mists. She heard teams driving down on 
the little pier, and knew that the cargo was arriving. 
She rose and dressed, and put her room in order ; 
opened the door and stepped on the upper deck. 
Her home was a steam-boat, you see. She went 
aft a little way, and then down-stairs to the main 
deck. Here she met crowds of men unload- 
ing crates of strawberries from the teams on the 
pier, for the "Mary and Sarah" was to take a 
cargo of strawberries to New York. She would 
start in less than an hour, and already the decks 
were piled high with crates, and the air was sweet 
with the fragrance of ten thousand quarts of 

Sarah went forward, and, finding the door of the 
engine-room open, she stepped in and sat down on 
the sofa before the bright and glistening engine. 
The engineer was polishing up the brass-work, and 
she spoke to him pleasantly, and said she thought 
they must have the largest cargo of the season. 
After talking for a few moments with the engineer, 
she went on deck, and passed along till she came 
to another door. She opened this and entered her 
mother's kitchen, or the " galley," as it was called 
on the boat. She found her mother busy over the 
queer little stove, and getting breakfast; but she 



seemed pale and weary. Sarah asked if she could 
help get the breakfast. 

"Yes, Sally, I wish you would finish it for me. 
Father is in a great hurry to get off this morning to 
get the fruit into market early, and I do not feel 
very well. I think I '11 go to my room and lie 
down for a while." 

Without a word, Sarah took the breakfast in 
hand, and finished it, while her mother went up- 
stairs to her state-room. In half an hour it was 
smoking hot on the breakfast table, and her father 
and all the men came in for it. From this we see 
that Sarah, while she did not say much, was a 
competent housekeeper, though hardly thirteen 
years of age. She cleared away the table, and put 
the room in order, went upstairs to see if her 
mother wanted anything, then went to her own 
state-room and made up the bed, and then took 
out her books to look over her lessons before going 
to school, twenty miles away. 

The day seemed to begin badly. Her mother 
was ill in bed, and, just as they were taking the last 
crates on board, a box fell on Jake Flanders's foot 
and hurt him so much that he had to go ashore 
and see the doctor. So it was that the ship's 
company was partly disabled — the captain's wife 
sick, and the deck-hand gone ashore. The time 
came to start, and the lines were cast off, and 
the "Mary and Sarah" steamed away for New 
York short-handed. 

Sarah gathered up her books, closed the blinds 
at her window, and went out on deck, and forward 
to the pilot-house. Her father was at the wheel, 
and Sarah slipped behind him to the sofa and 
curled herself upon it, and prepared to study her 
lessons. The boat steamed steadily on and on, and 
soon entered the great bay that opens in from the 
sea between Sandy Hook and the Narrows. It was 
a glorious day, and the cool sea-breeze, so salt and 
fresh, came in at the open windows of the pilot- 
house. To the right were the wooded hills of the 
Jersey shore, scored here and there with red streaks 
where the land-slides had uncovered the ruddy 
soil. Beyond, to the south-east, lay the low white 
beaches of Sandy Hook, with its light-houses and 
fringe of black cedars. To the east was the open 
sea, sparkling in the early sun. Directly ahead 
were the summer hotels on Coney Island, and to 
the left the wooded slopes and white villas of Staten 
Island, and the Narrows with the grass-clad forts. 
Here and there were ships moving about and 
giving life to the scene ! What a glorious place 
to study vulgar fractions and the declensions of the 
verb to be ! 

The " Mary and Sarah" plowed ahead directly 
for the Narrows, and leaving a wake of fragrance 
from a million strawberries to mingle with the 

sweet breath of the sea. They would reach the 
Narrows in about an hour, and enter the upper 
harbor, and in another hour would be at the dock, 
in good time for Sarah to go ashore to school. 
Just ahead of the boat was a long line of ships 
coming and going in the main channel that ex- 
tends across the mouth of the bay from the 
Narrows to Sandy Hook. The wind was south- 
east, and quite a number of vessels were running in 
before it, while others were beating out against the 
wind, or were being towed down to the Hook, with 
their sails loose in the wind, ready to be spread as 
soon as they should clear the land. 

The sun shone directly upon the girl's shapely 
head, and the cool salt air lifted her brown hair 
playfully. She was not exactly pretty, but pleasing 
— one of those sober girls who grow to be splendid 
women, strong, quick, and capable. Perhaps she 
was almost a woman now. She could cook, and 
sew, and make up a state-room, as well as any girl 
ashore. If need be, she could stand up and take 
that great wheel and steer the steamer from Oldport 
to New York and back again, and ask no favors 
of ship or ferry-boat. She knew all the bells for 
the engine, and the rules of the road, and had 
handled the boat many a time in the crowded 
Hudson, and twice she had put the boat in dock, 
without even scratching the paint on her sides. 

" There 's bound to be a collision ! " 

Her father's voice startled her, and she laid down 
her book and looked through the window. They 
had crossed the bay and had joined the procession 
of vessels in the main channel. Directly ahead was 
a large bark bound in, under full sail, and in front 
of her was a three-masted schooner, beating out. 
They were dangerously near each other, and the 
schooner seemed to be badly handled. She 
changed her direction, and the bark shifted her 
course to avoid her, and then the schooner came 
up in the wind on the other tack. 

" What a dreadful pity ! They are going to 

Almost before she could say this, the two vessels 
came together with a loud crash, and the bark's 
bowsprit broke off and fell into the water, and the 
schooner's foretop-mast snapped, and the foretop- 
sail came fluttering down to the deck. At the 
same instant, the engine-bell rang, and the engine 
stopped, but the boat had sufficient headway to 
bring her up alongside the bark. 

Captain Bates leaned from his window and cried 
out to the men on the bark : 

" Want any help ? " 

A man looked over the ship's side and said'. 

" Tow us to the city." 

" Take the wheel, Sally, while I go on board the 




bark. This is too good a job to lose. Keep her 
steady until I send Mr. Cramp up to you." 

Sarah stood up and took the wheel as if it was 
the most natural thing in the world, and her father 
went out on deck and down to the deck below. 
The schooner had by this time drifted away from 
the bark, and falling off before the wind, bore away 
on her course without waiting to see what damage 
she had done. The tide was running in strong, 
and the bark, being much larger than the steamer 
and having her sails set, began to move away from 
the boat. 

"Bring her 'longside, Sally," cried her father, 
trom below. She pulled the bell and leaned for- 
ward and put her mouth to the speaking-tube to 
the engine-room. "Give her three strokes and 
stop." At once came back the engineer's voice 
from below, through the tube, "All right, Captain 

They all called her that, so Captain Sarah turned 
the wheel over and in a moment laid the boat along- 
side the bark, just as the engine finished its three 

"And the berries will be a little late to market, 
but we shall get a good price for the job. 'T is n't 
every day freight-boats get a good paying tow like 

Captain Bates climbed on board the bark, and 
the bargain was made. A long, heavy line was let 
down from the bark's bows, the broken spar was 
cut away, and the steamer was made fast, and then 
they set out, the steamer some distance ahead, 
and the disabled bark towing behind. Captain 
Bates meanwhile had remained on the bark, which 
left the " Mary and Sarah " still more short-handed. 
Sarah took up her books again and was presently 
lost in the contemplation of the beautiful rule that 
the nominative case governs the gender of the verb. 
At least, that is the way she read it, but what can 
you expect in the pilot-house of a steamer towing a 
wreck into New York Harbor? 

The accident had taken place just outside the 
Narrows, and they now passed between Staten 
Island and Long Island, and entered the upper 
bay. As the people on the bark had said they 


strokes. Sarah has a keen eye, you observe. Just 
then, Mr. Cramp, the mate, entered the pilot-house, 
and she gave up the wheel to him and sat down on 
the sofa. 

" I am afraid I shall be late to school if we take 
the bark in tow." 

wished to go to Pier No. 42, North River, they 
at once steered for the city. This pier was only 
twelve docks from the "Mary and Sarah's" land- 
ing-place, so that, after all, the berries would not be 
very late to market, and Sarah would reach school 
in time for the first lessons. She must study as 



fast as possible to make up for lost time. For a 
little while nothing in particular happened, and 
then Mr. Cramp said to Sarah, in a stifled voice : 

"Take the wheel, Miss, for 
a bit. I feel rather queerish, 
and perhaps I 'd better sit 
down awhile." 

Sarah stood up behind the 
wheel to steer the boat while 
the mate sat down on the 

" Don't you feel well, Mr. 
Cramp ? " 

" Something 's come over 
me. I shall feel better in a 
moment. I '11 rest, and take 
the wheel again before we 
come to the Battery." 

They had now made the 
turn in the channel off the 
Kill Von Kull, and Sarah 
drew the wheel over and 
steered directly for the city. 
There were a big steam-ship 
coming out and several 
schooners going up before 
the wind. She knew the 
channel and the rules for 
passing steamers and sailing- 
craft, and went confidently 
on. It was so far plain sail- 
ing and she let the mate 
rest. Now she was drawing 
nearer to the city and the 
navigation was becoming dif- 
ficult. Already she could see 
the trees in Battery Park. 
She looked behind her and 

found that the mate had lain down on the sofa 
and had fallen asleep, seeming pale and tired. 
He was an old man with iron-gray hair, and he 
seemed to be sleeping soundly. 

" You had better take the wheel, Mr. Cramp ; 
we are almost up to the fort," said Sarah. 

He did not stir, and in a moment or two she 
spoke again ; but he made no reply. The North 
River was crowded with vessels, — a great number 
being at anchor in the river off Governor's Island, — 
and she kept inshore to give them a wide berth. 

"Oh, Mr. Cramp! take the wheel! Do wake 
up, sir; we are almost there ! " 

Just then a Staten Island ferry-boat came in 
sight, rounding the island and close inshore. It 
at once blew one whistle, as a signal that it wished 
to pass to the right. Sarah reached up overhead 
and pulled the cord for her whistle, and replied 
with one blast to signify that she understood, and 

Vol. VIII.— 43. 

then she steered her boat to the right and entered 
open water off the Battery, where the East and 
North rivers unite. She must now turn in a great 

circle to the west 

5!^ -" : and north, and 

then make her 
course up the 
river, between 
Jersey City and 
New York. 

"Please, Mr. 

Cramp ! wake 

up ! We can't 

stop, and we 

are in the 

river ! " 

The old 
man lay mo- 
tionless, and 


made no reply. She did not dare to leave 
the wheel. She could just touch him with 
her foot, and that was all, and in spite of 
every appeal, he slept on, and paid no attention 
whatever. She looked all around to see if the 
way was clear into the Hudson. Oh, there 's the 
"Bristol" heading down the East River, and just 
beginning to turn to pass the Battery, and behind 
the "Bristol" are the double smoke-stacks of the 
" Massachusetts " ! Two of the largest boats plying 
in New York waters, and both heading for the same 
point ! She would meet them both, unless her 
course was changed. No time to call Mr. Cramp 
now. She must take the boat on, at any hazard, 
as best she could. She blew her whistle once, as a 
signal to the " Bristol," and instantly there came 
two deep roaring blasts from her whistle. Sarah 
looked all around to see what this meant. They 
had refused her signal ! There was danger some- 
where ! Oh, the bark towing behind ! She had 
forgotten it. There was no room for the " Bristol " 
to pass ! Sarah pulled the cord twice for the 




whistle, and rang the engine-bell, and the engine 
stopped. Then she looked out behind to watch 
the bark. It would move on by its own momentum 
and overtake her, and she must keep out of the 
way. The enormous bulk of the " Bristol " came 
onward, like a great white mountain, to crush her, 
and Sarah rang to go astern. The steamer swept 
directly past her bows, and hundreds of people 
looked down from the loft)- decks and admired the 
skill with which the pilot of the " Mary and Sarah " 
had managed her. Perhaps some of them saw a 
young girl leaning from the window, and watching 
the "Massachusetts" plowing through the water 
just behind the other huge vessel. 

Before the ''Bristol" had fairly passed, Sarah 
rang for full speed ahead, and plunged, rocking 
and swaying, into the foaming wake of the great 
boat. She pulled the wheel sharp over, to bring 
her boat around to the west and drag the bark away 
from the track of the " Massachusetts." The tow- 
line had fallen in the water, and the bark was 
quite near. She must work fast. There was a 
South Brooklyn ferry-boat just behind, waiting 
for her to move on. She saw the great wheels of 
the "Massachusetts" stop, and knew she would 
try to clear the bark. The tow-rope stretched and 
shook out a cloud of spray, and the "Mary and 
Sarah" churned up the water furiously. All right ! 
The bark moved, and the "Massachusetts" swept 
on, clear of her stern, at full speed again. 

" Oh, Mr. Cramp ! wake up ! Wake up ! 
There 's no one to help me," cried Sarah. 

There was a rush of tears to her eyes, but he 
paid no heed, and slept peacefully through it all. 
No time for tears. There were two tow-boats, 
each with a canal-boat, coming down from the 
North River. They whistled for the " Mary and 
Sarah " to pass between them. She replied to 
each, and looked back at the bark. It was towing 
straight behind, and she went on and passed the 
tows in safety. Now, she must enter the river by 
keeping close to Pier No. I , as the great white 
boats were on her left just ahead. Oh ! worse than 
anything yet ! The " Plymouth Rock," one of the 
largest excursion boats, was backing out from the 
pier into the stream. Sarah stood on tiptoe to look 
if there were masts or smoke-stacks to be seen be- 
yond the " Plymouth Rock." There was nothing 
to be done but to squeeze in between the pier and 
the steamer's bows as she cleared the dock. She 
pulled the wheel over, and made directly for the 
third arch of the stone pier. If she had her boat 
alone she could stop and wait till the way was clear; 
but with a heavy ship towing behind, the case was 
very different. The bark could not stop, and would 
crowd down upon the steamer if that stopped. 
On came Sarah, and, at the right moment, she 

whirled the wheel over, and blew her whistle furi- 
ously so as to urge the " Plymouth Rock" to move 
on. Ah ! she could see clear water between the 
boat and pier. She swept on close by the pier — so 
near, in fact, that the people on the dock stared in 
at her window and wondered to see a young girl at 
the wheel, and with an old man asleep on the sofa 
behind her. 

It would n't do to keep near the docks, and she 
struck out into the center of the river, when a 
warning whistle on the left startled her. It was a 
big ferry-boat coming up from behind the "Ply- 
mouth Rock " from Communipaw, and making for 
her slip. She rang to reverse the engine, and 
looked through the back window at the bark. She 
must keep clear of it. The ferry-boat swept across 
her bows just as the bark came up with her, and 
she called for full speed and went ahead again. 
With sharp eyes on the river, she watched every 
moving vessel to be seen, every ferry-boat crossing 
the river, lazy barges drifting on the tide, and swift 
excursion steamers loaded with passengers. She 
crossed the Jersey City and Erie ferry tracks, and 
began to feel safer. The worst of it was over. 
A little higher up, she would turn in toward the 
city, and creep slowly up to Pier No. 42, where the 
bark was to be left. A deep roaring whistle startled 
her, and she looked along the docks to see where 
it came from. Ah ! The crowd of people on the 
next pier but one explained it. It was a steam-ship 
coming out of her dock. Sarah blew her whistle 
as a warning, but it was to no purpose. The 
huge black bows of an ocean steamer moved out 
directly in front of her. Either they had not seen 
her, or her signal had not been heard. It was too 
late for them to stop. She leaned forward and 
spoke down the tube : "Go astern, quick — quick ! " 

She felt the engine stop and reverse, and still 
the boat moved forward toward the vast black bulk 
before her. She saw an officer wave his hand on the 
bridge, and heard the boatswain's whistle. They 
were going to put out fenders to break the force 
of the collision. Sarah watched them calmly till 
she felt the boat stop, then she threw over the 
wheel and rang the bell for full speed ahead. The 
danger came from the bark towing behind. She 
looked behind and saw that it was coming up with 
her. In a moment she began to get speed again, 
and struck out into the stream at a right angle 
with the bark, and parallel with the steam-ship. If 
the tow-line held she would save the bark. If it 
broke — Well ! it was all she could do. 

A shadow fell on the pilot-house floor. She had 
come directly alongside the Cunarder, and had run 
into it sidewise, with a gentle jar. A rope fell down 
from the ship, and soon a young man in uniform 
stood on the deck in front of Sarah's pilot-house. 




" What 's this, Miss? What 's your tipsy pilot 
doing there asleep on the sofa?" 

Sarah did not turn, but looked steadily through 
the window behind. The "Mary and Sarah" 
fairly reeled under the sudden strain, — the tow-line 
held, — the bark was safe. She had stopped its 
headway, and it swung around under the Cunarder's 
stern, and all three vessels drifted out into the 
stream together. A hand was laid on hers, and 
Sarah found the young officer by her side. 

"Oh, sir! the mate was sick, and I had to 
take the wheel." 

"Yes, Miss, and it was a skillful turn, too. 
As clever a bit of seamanship as ever I saw ! " 

Then he bent over the sleeping mate and tried 
to rouse him. Another officer slid down the rope 
and came to the window of the pilot-house. 

"What 's the matter, Hodson ? " 

"Matter enough, sir," answered Hodson, as he 
laboriously, but gently, tried to turn the pilot over; 
"and the girl 's had the wheel ! " 

" She 's a master hand at steam-boat work," said 
the other officer, as he came into the pilot-house. 
"Hello! Bring water ! The man has fainted ! " 

But it was not a fainting fit, nor heavy sleep. 
What wonder the poor man had not heard Sarah ! 
Even the men could not rouse him, and when, at 
last, he opened his eyes, it was evident that it 
would be many a long day before his hand could 
guide the wheel again. 

"It 's his heart, poor chap," said one of the 
sailors looking on, "or else it 's a 'plectic stroke. 
I 've seen folks took that way afore ; but they came 
out of it all right." 

A LITTLE old woman of Dorking 
Said: "Well, there is no use a-talking. 

When I get to a stile, 

I must rest for a while, 
Before I go on with my walking." 




By Clara Erskine Clement. 


After the decline of what is termed Ancient 
Art, — that is to say (in the strictest sense), Greek 
art, — there was a long period, of the individual art- 


ists of which we can tell almost nothing. Ancient 
Rome was full of wonderful works of art ; but 
many of them were brought from Greece or other 
Eastern countries ; many more were made by 
Grecian artists in Rome, and, after the time of the 
Emperor Augustus, there was a long period of 
which we shall not speak. 

Giovanni Cimabue, the artist who is honored as 
the first Italian that revived any portion of the old 
beauty of painting, was born in Florence, in 1240. 
He was of a noble family, and his parents allowed 
him to follow his inclination for art until, at last, he 
painted the Madonna of the Church of Santa Maria 
Novella, which has always been, and must continue 
to be, a work of great interest. This was done 
when the artist was thirty years old. 

I fancy that any boy or girl who sees this picture 
now, wonders at its ugliness, instead of being 
filled with admiration, as were the Florentines six 
hundred and ten years ago. But then Cimabue 
was watched with intense interest, and all the more 
because he would allow no one to see what he was 
painting. At length it happened that Charles of 
Anjou passed through Florence on his way to his 
kingdom of Naples. Of course the noble Floren- 

tines did all in their power to entertain this royal 
guest, and, among other places, they took him to 
the studio of Cimabue, who uncovered his work for 
the first time. Many people flocked to see it, and 
expressed their delight so loudly that the portion of 
the city in which the studio was has ever since been 
called the Borgo Allcgri, or " the joyous quarter." 

When the picture was completed, it was borne to 
the church in a grand and solemn procession. The 
da)- was a festival, — music was played, the magis- 
trates of Florence graced the occasion with their 
presence, and the painter must have felt that he 
was more than repaid for all that he had done. 

After this, Cimabue became famous all over 
Italy. He died about 1302, and was buried in the 
church of Santa Maria del Fiore, and above his 
tomb were inscribed these words: "Cimabue 
thought himself master of the field of painting. 
While living, he was so. Now he holds his place 
among the stars of heaven." 


One of the titles that is given to Cimabue is that 
of the "Father of Painting"; and this can well 
be said of him when we remember that it was 
Cimabue who found Giotto, and acted the part of 
a father to the boy who was to be such a wonderful 
painter. The story is that, when Cimabue was 
quite old, and very famous, he was riding in the 
valley of Vespignano, a few miles from Florence, 
and saw a shepherd-boy, who, while his flocks 
were feeding, was making a portrait of one of his 
sheep on a bit of slate with a pointed stone. 
Cimabue looked at the sketch and found it so good 
that he offered to take the little Giotto — who was 
only twelve years old — and teach him to paint. 
The boy was very happy, and his father — whose 
name was Bondone — was glad of this good fortune 
for his son ; so Giotto di Bondone lived thenceforth 
with the noble Cimabue, and was instructed in 
letters by Brunetto Latini, who was also the teacher 
of the great poet, Dante ; while his art studies 
were made under his adopted father, Cimabue. 

In the first picture by Giotto of which we have 
any account, he introduced the portraits of Dante 
and his teacher, Latini, with several others. In 
later times, when Dante was persecuted by his 
enemies in Florence, this picture was covered with 
whitewash, and it was only restored to the light 
in 1 84 1, after centuries of concealment. It is a 



precious memento of the youth of two men of great 
genius — Dante and Giotto. 

Pope Boniface VIII., hearing, in Rome, of 
Giotto's paintings, sent to invite him to his court. 
The messenger of the Pope asked Giotto to show 
him something of the art which had made him so 
famous; and Giotto, taking a sheet of paper and a 
pencil, drew quickly, with a single motion, 
a circle so perfect that it was 
a miracle, and gave rise to a p 
which the Italians still love to use 
Piu tondo chc V O di Giotto 
(rounder than the O of 
Giotto). When in Rome, 
the artist executed both 
mosaics and paintings 
for the Pope ; and by the 
time that he was thirty 
years old, the dukes, 
princes, and kings, far 
and near, contended for 
his time and labors. 

When at Naples, in 
the employ of King Rob- 
ert, one very hot day the 
King said: "Giotto, if 
I were you, I would leave 
work, and rest." 

" So would I, sire, if 
1 'were you ," said Giotto. 

When the -same king 
asked him to paint a 
picture of his kingdom, 
Giotto drew an ass bear- 
ing a saddle, on which 
were a crown and scep- 
ter; on the ground be- 
side the ass was another 
saddle, with a very new 
and bright crown and 
scepter, which the ass 
was eagerly smelling. 
This was to signify that 
the Neapolitans were so 
fickle that they were 
always searching for a 
hew king. 

Giotto was a great 
architect besides being 
a painter, for he it was 
who made all the de- 
signs, and even some of the working models, for 
the beautiful bell-tower or campanile of Florence, 
near the cathedral and baptistry ; the picture of it, 
on the next page, is taken from a former number 
of ST. NICHOLAS. When the Emperor Charles V. 
saw this tower he exclaimed, "It should be kept 

under glass." A citizen of Verona, who was in 
Florence while this tower of Giotto's was being 
built, exclaimed that "the riches of two kingdoms 
would not suffice for such a work. " This speech 
being ^ overheard, he was thrown into 

prison and kept there sev- 
eral weeks, and was 
not permitted to 
: the city 
until he 


been taken to the treasury, and convinced that 
the Florentines could afford to build a whole city 
of marble. Giotto died in 1336, and was buried 
in the church of Santa Maria del Fiore, with 
great honors, and Lorenzo de' Medici afterward 
erected a monument to him. 





The real name of this painter was Christofani 
Buonamico. He was born in 1262 and died in 
1340, and while no one work can be pointed out 




as positively his, he is always remembered on 
account of his love of fun and for his practical 
jokes. Ghiberti called him a good painter,' and 
one able to excel all others when he set about it. 

When he was a student under Andrea Tafi, that 
master compelled all his scholars to rise very early ; 
this disturbed Buonamico so much that he deter- 
mined to find some means of escaping the hard- 
ship. As Tafi was very superstitious, Buonamico 

caught about thirty large black beetles, and 
fastened little tapers to their backs ; these he 
lighted, and then he sent the beetles one by one 
into his master's room, about the time when Tafi 
was in the habit of rising and calling the pupils 
from their sweetest sleep. 

When Tafi saw these creatures 
moving about in the dark, bearing 
their little lights, he did not dare 
to get up, and when daylight came, 
he hastened to his priest to ask 
what could be the meaning of this 
strange thing. The priest believed 
that he had seen demons, and 
when the master talked with Buffal- 
macco about it, that rogue con- 
firmed this idea by saying that, as 
painters always made their pict- 
ures of demons so ugly, they were 
probably angry, and he thought it 
wise to work only by day, when 
these fearful creatures would not 
dare to come near. In the end, 
this trick of the young painter was 
so successful that not only Tafi, 
but all other masters in Florence 
abandoned the custom of working 
before sunrise. 

Upon one occasion, when Buffal- 
macco had executed a commission 
to paint a picture of the Virgin 
with the infant Jesus in her arms, 
his employer failed to pay him 
his price. The artist needed the 
money sorely, and hit upon a 
means of getting it. He changed 
the child in the picture to a young 
bear. When his patron saw it, 
he was so shocked that he offered 
to pay him immediately if he would 
restore the child to the Virgin's 
arms ; the painter agreed to this, 
and as soon as he had the money 
in his hand, he washed the bear 
away and left the picture as it had 
been before, for, in painting the 
bear upon the child's picture, he 
had merely used water-colors to 
serve his joke, and had not injured the picture at all. 
The stories of this sort which Vasari tells of 
Buffalmacco in his " Lives of the Painters," are 
almost unending, and we feel that this merry 
fellow must have been light-hearted and happy ; 
but alas ! his end was sad enough, for, when 
seventy-eight years old, he died in a public hos- 
pital, not having saved enough out of all his earn- 
ings to buy a crust of bread, nor a decent burial. 

* See St. Nicholas for January, 18 


6 79 

Fra Angelico da Fiesole. 

The real name of this wonderful artist was 
Guido Petri de Mugello. He was born at Fiesole, 
near Florence, in 1387. When but twenty years 


old he became a monk, and entered the convent 
of San Marco at Florence, from which place he 
scarcely went out during seventy years. He con- 
sidered his painting as a service to the Lord, and 
would never make a bargain to paint a picture ; he 
received his orders from the prior of his convent, 
and began his work with fasting and prayer; he 
never changed anything when once painted, 
because he believed that he was guided by God in 
his work. Pope Nicholas V. summoned him to 
Rome to paint in the Vatican ; it is very curious 
that the key to the chapel which Fra Angelico 
painted, was lost during two centuries. All this time, 
very few people saw his beautiful works there, and 
those who entered were obliged to go in by a 
window. The chief merits in the works of Fra 
Angelico are the sweet and tender expression in 
the faces of his angels and saints, and the spirit of 
purity that seems to breathe through every paint- 
ing which he made. 

While he was at Rome, the Pope wished to 
make him the Archbishop of Florence ; this honor 
he would not accept, but after his death he was 
called, and is still known, by the title of // Beato, 
or "the Blessed." Many of his works remain in 
his own convent at Florence, and I love them most 

there, where he lived and worked, and where he 
liked best that they should be. 

Leonardo da Vinci. 

This artist was born in 1452, at the castle of 
Vinci, in the lower Val d' Arno. He grew to be 
a handsome young fellow, full of spirit and fun, 
and early showed that he had unusual gifts ; he 
was a good 'scholar in mathematics and mechanics, 
and wrote poetry and loved music, besides wishing 
to be a painter. 

His master was Andrea del Verocchio, an eminent 
man of his time. Leonardo soon surpassed him ; 
for while the master was painting a picture of the 
Baptism of Christ, the pupil was permitted to aid 
him, and an angel which he painted was so beauti- 
ful, we are told, that Signor Andrea cast aside his 
pencil forever, 
"enraged that 
a child should 
know more than 
himself. " 

Leonardo had 
a peculiar power 
of recollecting 
any face which 
he had seen, and 
could paint it 
after his return 
to his studio. 
Once, a peas- 
ant brought him 
a piece of fig- 
tree wood, and 
desired to have 
a picture painted 
on it. Leonardo 
determined to 
represent a hor- 
ror. He collect- 
ed lizards, ser- 
pents, and other 
frightful things, 
and from them 
made a picture 
so startling, that 
when his father 
saw it he ran 
away in a fright. 
This was sold 
to a merchant 
for one hundred 
ducats, and later, to the Duke of Milan, for three 
times that sum. It was called the Rotcllo del Fico, 
which means " a shield of fig-tree wood." 

After a time, Leonardo engaged his services to 





the Duke of Milan. He was the court-painter and 
superintendent of all the fetes and entertainments 
given at Milan. Leonardo afterward founded an 


academy of painting there, and was engaged in 
bringing the waters of the river Adda into the city 
from Mortesana, a distance of more than two hun- 
dred miles. Thus he made himself much fame, 
while he led a very gay life, for the court of Milan 
was a merry court. 

The greatest work which Leonardo did there was 
the painting of the "Last Supper," on the walls 
of the Dominican Convent of the Madonna delle 
Grazie. This picture has remained famous to this 
day, and although it is now almost destroyed by 
the effect of time, yet such engravings have been 
made from it that we can imagine how it looked 
when perfect. Some good copies, made while it 

was in fair preservation, exist in other cities. It 
is said that the prior of the convent was very 
impatient at the time which Leonardo took for this 
work, and complained to the 
Duke. When the artist was 
questioned, he said that the 
trouble of finding a face which 
pleased him for that of the 
traitor, Judas Iscariot, caused 
the delay; and added that he 
was willing to allow the prior 
to sit for this figure, and so 
shorten the time. This reply 
amused the Duke and silenced 
the prior. 

At length, the misfortunes of 
the Duke of Milan made it im- 
possible for him to aid Leonardo 
farther, and the artist came to 
poverty. He went next to Flor- 
ence, where he was kindly re- 
ceived, but some trouble ensued 
between himself and Michael 
Angelo, who was then winning 
his fame. They both made de- 
signs for painting the Palazzo 
Vecchio, and as jealousy arose, 
Leonardo left the city and went 
to Rome, where Pope Leo X. 
employed him in some impor- 
tant works. He could not be 
happy, however ; he was not 
loved and honored as he had 
been at Milan, and when he 
heard that the Pope had criti- 
cised his work, he joined the 
French King Francis I. at Pavia, 
where he then was, and re- 
mained with this monarch until 
his death. When they went to 
Paris, Leonardo was received 
with much honor, and every- 
thing was done for 'his comfort ; 
but his health had failed, and he died at Fon- 
tainebleau, where he had gone with the court, 
in 1 5 19. Leonardo da Vinci may be called the 
"Poet of Painters." One of his most famous 
pictures was the portrait of Mona Lisa del Gio- 
condo, sometimes called La Joconde. Leonardo 
worked on this picture at times, during four years, 
and was never satisfied with it. The painting is 
now in the gallery of the Louvre at Paris. 

Michael Angelo Buonarotti. 

This great artist was born in the castle of 
Caprese, in 1475. His father, who was of a noble 


68 I 

Florentine family, was then gov- 
ernor of Caprese and Chiusi. 
When the Buonarotti family re- 
turned to Florence, the little 
Michael Angelo was left with his 
nurse at Settignano, where his 
father had an estate. The home 
of the nurse was there, and for 
many years pictures were shown 
upon the walls of her house, 
which her little charge had 
drawn as soon as he could use 
his hands. 

When Michael Angelo was 
taken to Florence and placed in 
school, he became the friend of 
Francesco Granacci, who was of 
noble family, like himself, and a 
pupil of the artist, Ghirlandajo, 
one of the best masters in Flor- 
ence. Already, Michael Angelo 
was unhappy because his father 
did not wish him to be an artist. 
At length, however, he became 
a pupil of Ghirlandajo, and that 
at a time when the master was 
engaged on the great work of 
decorating the choir of the 
church of Santa Maria Novella, 
at Florence. Thus Michael An- 
gelo came immediately into the 
midst of wonderful things, and 
he was soon remarked for his complete devotion to 
the work about him. One day, when the work- 


at work on it. When Ghirlandajo saw this, he ex- 
claimed: "He understands more than I myself." 


men were at dinner, the boy made a drawing of the 
scaffolding and all belonging to it, with the painters 

It was not long before he corrected the drawing 
of the plates which the master gave his pupils to 




copy. Then the plates were refused to him, and, 
as Lorenzo de' Medici soon gave permission to both 
Michael Angelo and Francesco Granacci to study 
in the gardens of San Marco, Ghirlandajo was glad 
to be free from a pupil who already knew so much. 


In the gardens of San Marco, Duke Lorenzo had 
placed many splendid works of art, and pictures 
and cartoons were hung in buildings there, so that 
young men could study them. Many young sculp- 
tors worked there, and one Bertoldo, an old man, 
was their teacher. Now Michael Angelo began to 
model, and his first work was the mask of a faun, 
which he copied so well as to attract the attention 
of Lorenzo. He praised Michael Angelo, but said : 
" You have made your faun so old, and yet you 
have left him all his teeth ; you should have known 
that, at such an advanced age, there are generally 
some wanting. " When he came again to the gar- 
dens, he found a gap in the teeth of the faun, so 
well done that he was delighted with it. 

Soon the Duke sent for the father of Michael 
Angelo, and obtained his full consent that the boy 
should be an artist. The young sculptor was then 
taken into the palace ; he was treated with great 
kindness by Lorenzo, and sat at his table, where 
he met all the remarkable men of the 
day, and listened to such conversation 
as is most profitable to a boy. It was 
the rule that whoever came first to the 
table should sit next the Duke, and 
Michael Angelo often had that place. 
But all this happy life was sadly 
ended by the death of Lorenzo de' 
Medici, and Michael Angelo left the 
palace and had a room in his father's 
house for his work-shop. After a time, 
Piero de' Medici invited him again to 
the palace, but the young man was 
ill at ease, and soon went to Venice. 
There he met a sculptor of Bologna, 
who induced him to visit that city ; but 
the commissions he received so excited 
the jealousy of other artists that he 
returned again to Florence. He was 
now twenty years old, and the next 
work of his which attracted attention 
was a " Sleeping Cupid," which so 
resembled an antique statue that it was 
sold in Rome for a very old work ; two 
hundred ducats were paid for it, though 
Michael Angelo received but thirty 
ducats. By some means the knowl- 
edge of this fraud came to Michael 
Angelo, and he explained that he had 
known nothing of it, but had also been 
deceived himself; the result of all this 
was, that he went to Rome, and was 
received into the house of the noble- 
man who had bought the "Cupid." 
He remained in Rome about three 
years, and executed the "Drunken 
Bacchus," now in the Uffizi Gallery at 
Florence, and "La Pieta " (or the Virgin Mary 
seated, holding the dead body of Jesus across her 
lap), a fine piece of sculpture, now in the Basilica 
of St. Peter's at Rome. 

When he returned to Florence, he executed some 
paintings and sculptures, but was soon employed 
on his " David," one of his greatest works. It was 
completed and put in its place in 1504, and there 
it remained more than two centuries — next the 
gate of the Palazzo Vecchio. A few years ago, it 
was feared that the beautiful statue would crumble 
in pieces if longer exposed to the weather, and it 
was removed to a £lace where it now stands, safe 
from sun and rain. 

When the " David " was completed, Michael 


68 3 

Angelo was not quite thirty years old, but his 
fame as a great artist was established, and through 
all his long life (for he lived eighty-nine years) he 
was constantly and industriously engaged in the 
production cf important works. 

He was not a great painter, a great sculptor, or a 
great architect, but he was all of these. His most 
famous painting was that of the " Last Judgment" 
in the Sistine Chapel of the Vatican. His most 

these are, in truth, a small part of all he did. 
He served under nine popes, and, during his life, 
thirteen men occupied the papal chair. There 
were great political changes, also, during this time, 
and the whole impression of his life is a serious, 
sad one. He seems to have had very little joy or 
brightness, and yet he was tender and thoughtful 
for all whom he loved. He was an old man before 
he met Vittoria Colonna, who was a very wonder- 


famous sculptures were the " David," " La Pieta," 
the "Tomb of Pope Julius II.," "Moses," "The 
Dying Youth," and the famous statues of "Day" 
and "Night"; and his greatest architectural 
work is the Cupola of St. Peter's Church. But 

ful woman, and much beloved by Michael Angelo. 
He wrote poems to her, which are full of affection 
and delicate friendship ; and the Italians add the 
gift of poetry to all the others which this great 
man possessed, and used so nobly and purely. 




They associate the name of Michael Angelo Buonar- was borne to the church of S. Piero Maggiore. 

otti with those of Dante Alighieri and the painter The funeral was at evening ; the coffin, placed 

Raphael, and speak of these three as the greatest upon a bier, was borne by the younger artists, 

men of their country, in what are called modern days, while the older ones carried torches; and thus it 


Michael Angelo died at Rome in 1564. He 
desired to be buried in Florence, but it was feared 
that his removal would be opposed. His body 
was, therefore, taken through the gate of the city 
as merchandise, and, when it reached Florence, it 

reached Santa Croce, its final resting-place — the 
same church in which the poet Dante was buried. 
A few months later, magnificent sendees were 
held in his memory in the church of San Lorenzo, 
where are his fine statues of "Day" and "Night," 


68 5 

made for the Medici chapel of this edifice. A 
monument was erected to him in Santa Croce, 
and his statue is in the court of the Uffizi; and 
the house in which he lived, and which is still 
visited by those who honor his memory, contains 
many very interesting personal mementos of this 
great man, and of the noble spirit in which all his 
works were done. 

In 1S75, a grand festival was made to celebrate 
the four hundredth anniversary of his birth. The 
ceremonies were very impressive, and, at that time, 
some documents, relating to his life, which had 
never before been opened, were given over, by 
command of the king, into the hands of suitable 
persons, to be examined. Mr. Heath Wilson, an 
English artist, residing at Florence, wrote a new 
life of Michael Angelo, and the last time that the 
King, Victor Emmanuel, wrote his own name be- 
fore his death, it was on the paper which conferred 
upon Mr. Wilson the order of the Corona cf Italia, 
in recognition of his services in writing this book. 

Most Important Existing Works of the Artists Named 
in this Article. 


Enthroned Madonna, Church of S. Maria Novella, Florence. 

Madonna, Academy, Florence. 

Large Mosaic, in Cathedral at Pisa. 

Frescoes in Upper Church of S. Francis, at Assisi. 

Virgin, with Angels, Louvre, Paris. 

Madonna enthroned, with Angels, National Gallery, London. 


St. Francis Wedded to Poverty, Lower Church of St. Francis, at 
Assisi. • 

St Francis in Glory, Lower Church of St. Francis, at Assisi. 

The Navicella, Mosaic in the Vestibule of St. Peter's, at Rome 
(much restored). 

Virgin and Child, with Saints and Angels, Academy, Florence. 

Portrait of Dante, Bargello, Florence. 

Very Important Frescoes, in the Church of the Incoronata, at 

Virgin and Child, Brera, Milan. 

Three Pictures in the Pinakothek, Munich. 

St. Francis, of Assisi, Louvre, Paris. 

Two Apostles — part of a fresco — National Gallery, London. 

Fra Angelico da Fiesole. 

A Collection of Ten Pictures in the Academy, at Florence. 

Virgin and Child, with Saints, Pitti Gallery, Florence. 

Several Pictures in the Uffizi Gallery, Florence. 

Three Pictures in the Corsini Palace, Rome. 

St. Nicholas of Bari, Vatican Gallery, Rome. 

Madonna and Child, Museum, Berlin. 

Enthroned Madonna, Stadel Gallery, Frankfort. 

God the Father, in a Glory of Angels, Pinakothek, Munich. 

The Annunciation, Royal Museum, Madrid. 

The Coronation of the Virgin, Louvre, Paris. 
Christ in Glory, National Gallery, London. 

Leonardo da Vinci. 

Leonardo's Nun, Pitti Gallery, Florence. 
Adoration of the Kings, Uffizi Gallery, Florence. 
Ecce Homo, Fresco, Brera Gallery, Milan. 
The Last Supper, Convent, Milan. 
St. Jerome, the Vatican, Rome. 
Virgin, Child, and St. John, Dresden Gallery. 
La Joconde, Louvre, Paris. 
La Belle Feronicre, Louvre, Paris. 

(St. John the Baptist, and others attributed to Da Vinci, are also 
at the Louvre.) 

Michael Angelo. 

Mask of a Faun, National Museum, Bargello, Florence. 

Statue of Bacchus, National Museum, Bargello, Florence. 

Statue of David, at Florence. 

Statues of Day and Night, Church of San Lorenzo, Florence. 

Statue of Moses, Church of San Pietro in Vincoli, Rome. 

Statue of a Captive, Louvre, Paris. 

Painting of Sistine Chapel, Vatican, Rome. 

Painting of a Madonna, Uffizi Gallery, Florence. 

Portrait of Himself, Capitol Gallery, Rome. 


(To be continued.) 





By Elizabeth Stoddard. 

erhaps it was because 
she hated cats. 

My aunt's house is a 
large one, — very like 
those you often see when 
traveling in the country, 
— square, with windows 
all shut, silent doors and 
empty porches. The 
beauty of my aunt's house 
was its back yard, and 
, r back door, with a great, flat 

~~*^^r^8»WSJ stone step. A gate at the 
back of the yard opened on 
a lane, where trees grew on each 
side, and thickets, which, in summer, are full of 
birds, butterflies, and blossoms. The deep ruts 
are overgrown with grass ; only the breezes pass 
to and fro, which flutter the leaves into little 
rustling songs. The back door led into a great 
kitchen, built ever so many years ago ; the rafters 
were coffee-colored, for my aunt would never have 
them whitewashed. Lots of things were stowed 
away among those rafters, — pumpkin-seeds, ears of 
corn, bunches of herbs, an old saddle ; and, in the 
winter, hams and links of sausage swung from the 
beams. Piles of paper bulged over their edges, 
and the rubbish of years was there, precious to 
my aunt, but useless to everybody else. 

One day in autumn, Josh, my aunt's man-of-all- 
work, while hoisting a bag of dried beans into the 
rafters, discovered a pair of gray striped squirrels. 
He rattled the beans and " shooed," but they only 
skipped beyond his reach, chattering, and stood 
on their hind paws, making motions with their fore 
paws as if "shooing" Josh in return. 

"I do believe, mem," he called to my aunt, 
"that these little thieves have come to eat up all 
my garden-seeds ; but I can't make out why 
ground-squirrels should roost up here." 

"Let them be, Josh," said my aunt; "I'd 
rather have squirrels overhead than cats under 
feet; the creatures wont trouble me." 

Nor did they ; but, when people talked in the 
kitchen, the squirrels chattered louder and faster 
than ever. Although they dropped seeds and 
straws on my aunt's muslin cap, and although Josh 
muttered about holes in bags, and muss, and noise, 
she would not listen. She declared they were 
company for her, and she was certain they would 
not forget her friendliness toward them ; they 

kept their distance, and were always the same 
bright, cheerful, happy little beings ! 

For all this, Josh pondered a plan, and carried 
it out. " Ground-squirrels," he argued, "had no 
business up in the air." So he prepared a bag, 
tackled the old horse to the wagon, caught the 
squirrels when my aunt went out, put them in the 
bag, and rode away up the lane and into the 
woods. When he got to a thick spot, dark with 
trees, he shook out the squirrels, turned about, 
and jogged home, with the satisfaction of having 
finished a good job, just a little dashed with 
dread of my aunt's scolding, which, any way, was 
not so bad as their chatter. Josh opened the 
kitchen door and went in. The silence pleased 
him, and he began to rub his hands, as his way 
was when pleased. He cast his eyes upward and 
was instantly greeted with a merry chatter. The 
squirrels had got home before him, and were all 
the more lively for their voyage in the bag, the 
ride in the wagon, and the picnic in the woods ! 

"Marcy on me!" he cried, his hands falling 
apart. Just then the squirrels let drop a hickory- 
nut on the bald spot of Josh's head. 

"I missed their noise," said my aunt; "they 
have been cunning enough to go out nutting." 

"Yes," said poor Josh. "They are very cun- 
ning, mem ; I know so much about them." 

Either the indignity of the raid upon them, or 
the find of the hickory-nuts, was too much for 
the squirrels ; shortly after, they disappeared. My 
aunt was reminded more than once of their ingrati- 
tude, but all she said was — "Wait." 

A cat was proposed for a pet once more. "No 
cats ! " my aunt said, looking severely at Josh, who 
went out to the barn immediately. 

When the spring came, and the lilac-bushes 
bloomed, I went to my aunt's — the old kitchen was 
my delight. We sat on the door-step in the after- 
noon when the sun-rays left the lane, and we could 
rest our eyes on the deep cool green of tree and 
shrub. My aunt watched the way of the wind, 
where the birds flew, and the coming blossoms, 
and I watched her. Once, when I happened to be 
inside, I heard a suppressed wondering cry from 
her, which made me hurry back ; I saw her atten- 
tion was fixed on the path below the step, and 
looked also, to see the most cunning procession that 
ever was. My aunt's gray squirrel was trotting 
toward us, with tail curled up, and accompanied 
by four little ones exactly like her, with their 




mites of tails curled up also, — two were on her 
back, and two trotted beside her. She came up 
to my aunt fearlessly, and the little ones ran about 
us. Her motherly joy and pride were plain to be 
seen. Then we heard a shrill squeak from the 
lilac-bush, — it came from her companion, the father 
of the family, who watched the reception. My 
aunt sent me for pumpkin-seed, and to see them 
snipping the shells and feeding on the meat was 
a fine treat. The babies were about a finger's 

length, but their tails had as stiff a curl as their 
mamma's, and never got out of place. Many a 
day afterward, the mother paraded the young 
ones on the door-step, and carried home her pouch 
full of pumpkin-seed, but the father never put his 
dignity off to come any nearer than the lilac-bush. 

"Now, you unbelieving Josh," called my aunt 
once, " what do you say ? " * 

" Say, mem," looking up at the rafters. " I say 
a cat might have druv them away." 


SHE sits and smiles through all the summer day; 

The sea-gulls and the breezes pass her by ; 
Her eyes are blue, and look so far away, 

She seems to see into another sky. 

What does she think of, sitting there so long? 

Ah, silly maiden ! shall I guess your wish ? 
Will some kind artist " [tell me, if I 'm wrong] 

" Just please to paint me on a plaque or dish ? " 





By Rossiter Johnson. 

Chapter XV. 


Presently we heard a tremendous noise behind 
us, — a combination of rumble, rattle, and shout. 
It was Red Rover Three going to the fire. She 
was for some reason a little belated, and was trying 
to make up lost time. At least forty men had 
their hands on the drag-rope, and were taking her 
along at a lively rate, while the two who held the 
tongue and steered the engine, being obliged to 
run at the same time, had all they could do. The 
foreman was standing on the top, with a large tin 
trumpet in his hand, through which he occasion- 
ally shouted an order. 

" Let 's take hold of the drag-rope and run with 
her," said Phaeton. 

If I had been disposed to make any objection, I 
had no opportunity, for Phaeton immediately made 
a dive for a place where there was a longer interval 
than usual between the men, and seized the rope. 
Not to follow him would have seemed like deser- 
tion, and I thought if I was ever to be a boy of 
spirit, this was the time to begin. 

When a boy for the first time laid his hand upon 
the drag-rope of an engine under swift motion, he 
experienced a thrill of mingled joy and fear to 
which nothing else in boy-life is comparable. If 
he missed his hold, or tired too soon, he would 
almost certainly be thrown to the ground and run 
over. If he could hang on, and make his legs fly 
fast enough, he might consider himself as sharing 
in the glory when the machine rolled proudly up 
in the light of the burning building and was wel- 
comed with a shout. 

There comes to most men, in early manhood, a 
single moment which, perhaps, equals this in its 
delicious blending of fear and rapture — but let us 
leave that to the poets. 

Phaeton and I hung on with a good grip, while 
the inspiration of the fire in sight, and the enthu- 
siasm of our company, seemed to lend us more 
than our usual strength and speed. But before we 
reached the fire, a noise was heard on a street that 
ran into ours at an angle some distance ahead. 
The foreman's ear caught it instantly, and he knew 
it was Cataract Eight doing her best in order to 
strike into the main road ahead of us. 

" Jump her, men ! jump her ! " he shouted, and 
pounded on the brakes with his tin trumpet. 

The eighty legs and four wheels on which Red 
Rover Three was making her way to the fire each 
doubled its speed, while forty mouths yelled, " Ki 
yi ! " and the excited foreman repeated his admoni- 
tion to "Jump her, boys! jump her ! " 

Phaeton and I hung on for dear life, although I 
expected every moment to find myself unable to 
hang on any longer. Sometimes we measured the 
ground in a sort of seven-league-boot style, and 
again we seemed to be only as rags tied to the 
rope and fluttering in the wind. The two men at 
the tongue were jerked about in all sorts of ways. 
Sometimes one would be lying on his breast on the 
end of it where it curved up like a horse's neck, 
and the next minute one or both of them would be 
thrown almost under it. Whenever a wheel struck 
an uneven paving-stone, these men would be jerked 
violently to one side, and we could feel the shock 
all along the rope. It seemed sometimes as if the 
engine was simply being hurled through the air, 
occasionally swooping down enough in its flight to 
touch the ground and rebound again. All the 
while the church-bells of the city, at the mercy of 
sextons doubly excited by fire and fees, kept up a 
direful clang. I doubt whether the celebrated 
clang of Apollo's silver bow could at all compare 
with it. 

As we neared the forks of the road, the foreman 
yelled and pounded yet more vociferously, and 
through the din we could hear that Cataract Eight 
was doing the same thing. At last we shot by the 
corner just in time to compel our rival to fall in 
behind us, and a minute or two later, we burst 
through the great ring of people that surrounded 
the fire, and made our entrance, as it were, upon 
the stage, with the roaring, crackling flames of 
three tall buildings for our mighty foot-lights. 

We had "jumped her." 

The fire was in the Novelty Works — an estab- 
lishment where were manufactured all sorts of small 
wares in wood and iron. The works occupied three 
buildings, pretty close together, surrounded by a 
small strip of yard. Either because the firemen, 
from the recent demoralization of the department, 
were long in coming upon the ground, or for some 
other reason, the fire was under good headway, and 
all three buildings were in flames, before a drop of 
water was thrown. 

Phaeton whispered to me that we had better get 
away from the engine now, or they might expect 
us to work at the brakes ; so we dodged back and 

Copyright, 1880, by Rossiter Johnson. All rights reserved. 



forth through the crowd, and came out in front of 
the fire at another point. Here we met Monkey 
Roe, who had run with Red Rover's hose-cart, was 
flushed with excitement, and was evidently enjoy- 
ing the fire most heartily. 

"Oh, the fire 's a big one ! " said he, " about 
the biggest we ever had in this town — or will be, 
before it gets through. I have great hopes of that 
old shanty across the road ; it ought to have been 
burned down long ago. If this keeps on much 
longer, that '11 have to go. Don't you see the 
paint peeling off already? " 

The " old shanty " referred to was a large wooden 
building used as a furniture factory, and it cer- 

sis, "we have washed Cataract Eight, we can wash 
Cataract Eight, and we will wash Cataract Eight. " 

There were older people than Monkey Roe to 
whom the washing of Cataract Eight, rather than 
the extinguishment of fires, was the chief end of 
a company's existence. 

"Yes," said I, catching some of Monkey's 
enthusiasm, in addition to what I had already 
acquired by running with Red Rover, " I think we 
can wash her." 

The next moment I was pierced through and 
through by pangs of conscience. Here was I, a 
boy whose uncle was a member of Cataract Eight, 
and who ought, therefore, to have been a warm 

1* ■£ 

1 'l! 


w ''^JJiiiiig, 

HP ' flffi fWg ' Jr.' 

- ^:'-^f 1," r J 


tainly did look as if Monkey's warmest hopes 
would be realized. I observed that he wore a 
broad belt of red leather, on which was inscribed 
the legend : 






" Monkey," said I, " what does that queer motto 
mean, on your belt? " 

" Why, don't you know that ? " said he ; "that 's 
Red Rover's motto." 

" Yes, of course it is," said I ; " but what does 
it mean ? " 

"It means," said Monkey, with solemn empha- 
VOL. VIII.— 44. 

admirer and partisan of that company, not only- 
running to a fire with her deadly rival, but openly 
expressing the opinion that she could be washed. 
But such is the force of circumstances in their rela- 
tive distance — smaller ones that are near us often 
counterbalancing much larger ones that happen, for 
the moment, to be a little farther off. It did not 
occur to me to be ashamed of myself for expressing 
an opinion which was not founded on a single fact 
of any kind whatever. The consciences of very 
few people seem ever to be troubled on that point. 

" The Hook-and-Ladder is short of hands to- 
night," said Monkey. " I think I '11 take an ax." 

"What does he mean by taking an ax?" said 
I to Phaeton. 

"I don't know," said Phaeton, as Monkey Roe 




turned to push his way through the excited crowd; 
"but let 's follow him, and find out." 

Monkey passed around the corner into the next 
street, where stood a very long, light carriage, 
with two or three ladders upon it and a few axes in 
sockets on the sides. These axes differed from 
ordinary ones in having the corner of the head 
prolonged into a savage-looking spike. 

Monkey spoke to the man in charge, who 
handed him an ax and a fireman's hat. ■ This hat 
was made of heavy sole-leather, painted black, the 
crown being rounded into a hemisphere, and the 
rim extended behind so that it covered his shoulder- 
blades. On the front was a shield ornamented 
with two crossed ladders and a figure 2. 

He took the ax, and put on the hat, leaving 
his own, and at the man's direction went to where 
a dozen ax-men were chopping at one side of a 
two-story wooden building that made a sort of 
connecting-link between the Novelty Works and 
the next large block. 

Monkey seemed to hew away with the best of 
them; and, though they were continually changing 
about, we could always tell him from the rest by 
his shorter stature and the fact that his hat seemed 
too large for him. 

Before long, a dozen firemen, with a tall ladder 
o.i their shoulders, appeared from somewhere, and 
quickly raised it against the building. Three of 
them then mounted it, dragging up a pole with an 
enormous iron hook at the end. But there was no 
projection at the edge of the roof into which they 
could fix the hook. 

" Stay where you are ! " shouted the foreman to 
them through his trumpet. Then to the assistant 
foreman he shouted : 

" Send up your lightest man to cut a place." 

The assistant foreman looked about him, seized 
on Monkey as the lightest man, and hastily ordered 
him up. 

The next instant, Monkey was going up the 
ladder, ax in hand ; he passed the men who were 
holding the hook, and stepped upon the roof. 
While he stood there, we could see him plainly, a 
dark form against a fiery background, as, with a 
few swift strokes, he cut a hole in the roof, perhaps 
a foot from the edge. 

The hook was lifted once more, and its point 
settled into the place thus prepared for it. The 
pole that formed the handle of the hook reached 
in a long slope nearly to the ground, and a heavy 
rope formed a continuation of it. At the order of 
the foreman, something like a hundred men seized 
this rope and stretched themselves out in line for a 
big pull. At the same time, some of the firemen 
near the building, seeing the first tongues of flame 
leap out of the window nearest to the ladder, — for 

the fire had somehow got into this wooden building 
also, — hastily pulled down the ladder, leaving 
Monkey standing on the roof, with no apparent 
means of escape. 

A visible shudder ran through the crowd, fol- 
lowed by shouts of " Raise the ladder again ! " 

The ladder was seized by many hands, but in a 
minute more it was evident that it would be useless 
to raise it, for the flames were pouring out of every 
window, and nobody could have passed up or down 
it alive. 

"Stand from under!" shouted Monkey, and 
threw his ax to the ground. 

Then, getting cautiously over the edge, he seized 
the hook with both hands, threw his feet over it, 
thus swinging his body beneath it, and came down 
the pole and the rope hand over hand, like his 
agile namesake, amid the thundering plaudits of 
the multitude. 

As soon as he was safely landed, the men at the 
rope braced themselves for a pull, and with a " Yo, 
heave, ho ! " the whole side of the building was 
torn off and came over into the street with a deafen- 
ing crash, while a vast fountain of fire rose from its 
ruins, and the crowd swayed back as the heat 
struck upon their faces. 

By this time, all the engines were in position, had 
stretched their hose, and were playing away vigor- 
ously. The foremen were sometimes bawling 
through their trumpets, and sometimes battering 
them to pieces in excitement. The men that held 
the nozzles and directed the streams were gradually 
working their way nearer and nearer to the build 
ings, as the water deadened portions of the fire 
and diminished the heat. And, through all the din 
and uproar, you could hear the steady, alternating 
thud of the brakes as they struck the engine-boxes 
on either side. Occasionally this motion, on some 
particular engine, would be quickened for a few 
minutes, just after a vigorous oration by the fore- 
man ; but it generally settled back into the regular 

And now a crack appeared in the front wall of 
one of the tall brick buildings, near the corner, 
running all the way from ground to roof. A sup- 
pressed shout from the crowd signified that all had 
noticed it, and served as a "warning to the hosermen 
to look out for themselves. 

The crack grew wider at the top. The immense 
side wall began to totter, then hung poised for a 
few breathless seconds, and at last broke from the 
rest of the building and rushed down to ruin. 

It fell upon the burning wreck of the wooden 
structure, and sent sparks and fire-brands flying for 
scores of yards in every direction. 

The hose-men crept up once more under the now 
dangerous front wall, and sent their streams in at 



the windows, where a mass of living flame seemed 
to drink up the water as fast as it could be deliv- 
ered, and only to increase thereby. 

It might have been ten minutes, or it might 
have been an hour, after the falling of the side 
wall, — time passes so strangely during excitement, 
— when another great murmur from the crowd an- 
nounced the trembling of the front wall. The 
hose-men were obliged to drop the nozzles and run 
for their lives. 

After the preliminary tremor which always oc- 
curs, either in reality or in the spectator's imagina- 
tion, the front wall doubled itself down by a diago- 
nal fold, breaking off on a line running from the 
top of the side wall still standing to the bottom 
of the one that had fallen, and piling itself in a 
crumbled mass, out of which rose a great cloud of 
dust from broken plaster. 

The two other brick buildings, in spite of the 
thousands of gallons of water that were thrown into 
them, burned on fiercely till they burned them- 
selves out. But no more walls fell, and, for weeks 
afterward, the four stories of empty and blackened 
ruin towered in a continual menace above their 

That old shanty which Monkey Roe had hoped 
would burn, had been saved by the unwearied ex- 
ertions of the firemen, w-ho from the moment the 
engines were in action had kept it continually wet. 

"The best of the fire was over," as an habitual 
fire-goer expressed it, the crowd was thinning out, 
and Phaeton and I started to look for Ned, who, 
poor fellow ! was pining in a dungeon, where he 
could only look through iron bars upon a square of 
reddened sky. 

We had hardly started upon this quest when 
several church-bells struck up a fresh alarm, and 
the news ran from mouth to mouth that there was 
another fire ; but nobody seemed to know exactly 
where it was. 

" Let 's follow one of the engines," said Phaeton ; 
and this time we cast our lot with Rough-and-Ready 
Seven, — not with hand on the drag-ropes to assist 
in "jumping" her, but rather as ornamental tail- 

"I think I shall take an ax this time," said 
Phaeton, as we ran along. 

"I 've no doubt you could handle one as well as 
Monkey Roe," said I, — "that is," — and here I 
hesitated somewhat, — " if you had on an easy suit 
of clothes. Mine seem a little too tight to give 
free play to your arms." 

"Oh, as to that," said Phaeton, who had fairly 
caught the fireman fever, "if I find the coat too 
tight, I can throw it off." 

The second fire was in Mr. Glidden's house. 
It had probably arisen from cinders wafted from 

the great fire and falling upon the front steps. All 
about the front door was in a blaze. 

At the sight of this, Phaeton seemed to become 
doubly excited. He rushed to the Hook-and- 
Ladder carnage, and came back in a minute with 
an ax in his hand, and on his head a fireman's hat, 
which seemed somewhat too large for him, and 
gave him the appearance of the victorious gladi- 
ator in Gerome's famous picture. 

He seemed now to consider himself a veteran 
fireman, and, without orders from anybody, rushed 
up to the side door and assaulted it vigorously, 
shivering it, with a few blows, into a thousand 

He passed in through the wreck, and, for a few 
minutes, was lost to sight. I barely caught a 
glimpse of a man passing in behind him. What 
took place inside of the house, I learned afterward. 

Miss Glidden had been sitting up reading 
" Ivanhoe," and had paid no attention to the great 
fire, excepting to look through the window a few 
minutes on the first alarm. Hearing this thunder- 
ing noise at the door, she stepped to the head of 
the stairs, in a half-dazed condition, and saw 
ascending them, as she expressed it, "a grotesque 
creature, in tight clothes, wearing an enormous 
mediaeval helmet, and bearing in his hand a 
gleaming battle-ax." She could only think him 
the ghost of a Templar, and scream in affright. 

The man, who had gone in after Phaeton, passed 
him on the stairs, and soon emerged from the 
house, bearing the young lady in his arms. It 
was Jack-in-thc-Box. 

Phaeton came out a few minutes later, bringing 
her canary in its cage. 

"This- must be put in a safe place," said he to 
me; "Miss Glidden thinks the world of it. I '11 
run home with it, and come back again." And he 
ran off, just escaping arrest at the hands of a 
policeman who thought he was stealing the bird, 
but who was not able to run fast enough to catch 

Meanwhile, the firemen were preparing to extin- 
guish the new fire. There was no water-supply 
near enough for a single engine to span the dis- 
tance. Some of them had been left at the great 
fire, to continue pouring water upon it, while the 
chief-engineer ordered four of them to take care of 
this one. 

They formed two lines, Red Rover Three and 
Big Six taking water from the canal and sending it 
along to Cataract Eight and Rough-and-Ready 
Seven, who threw it upon the burning house. 

As Phaeton, Jack-in-the-Box, Miss Glidden, and 
the canary emerged from the house, half a dozen 
men rushed in — some of them firemen, and some 
citizens who had volunteered their help. In a 




little while, one of them appeared at an upper 
window, having in his hands a large looking-glass, 
with an elaborately carved frame. Without stop- 


ping to open the window, he dashed the mirror 
through sash, glass, and all, and as it struck the 
ground it was shivered into a thousand fragments. 
Then another man appeared at the window with 
an armful of small framed pictures, and, taking 
them one at a time by the corner, "scaled" them 
out into the air. 

Then the first man appeared again, dragging a 
mattress. Resting this on the window-sill, he tied 
a rope around it, and let it down slowly and care- 
fully to the ground. 

The second man appeared again, in turn ; this 
time with a handsome china wash-bowl and pitcher, 
which he sent out as if they had been shot from a 
cannon. In falling, they just escaped smashing 
the head of a spectator. Bearing in mind, I sup- 
pose, the great mercantile principle that a "set" 
of articles should always be kept together, he hur- 
riedly threw after them such others as he found on 
the wash-stand, — the cake of soap striking the 
chief-engineer in the neck, while the tall, heavy 
slop-jar — hurled last of all to complete the set — ■ 
turned some beautiful somersaults, emptying its 
contents on Lukey Finnerty, and landed in the 
midst of a table full of crockery, which had been 
brought out from the dining-room. 

Next appeared, at another upper window, two 
men carrying a bureau that proved to be too large 
to go through. With that promptness which is so 
necessary in great emergencies, one of the men 
instantly picked up his ax, and, with two or three 
blows, cut the bureau in two in the middle, after 
which both halves were quickly bundled through 
the window and fell to the ground. 

The next thing they saved was a small, open 
book-case filled with handsomely bound books. 
They brought it to the window, with all the books 
upon it, rested one end on the sill, and then, trip- 
ping up its heels, started it on the hyperbolic curve 
made and provided for projectiles of its class. If 
the Commissioner of Patents could have seen it 
careering through the air, he would have rejected 
all future applications for a monopoly in revolving 
book-cases. When it reached the ground, there 
was a general diffusion of good literature. 

They finally discovered, in some forgotten closet, 
a large number of dusty hats and bonnets of a 
by-gone day, and came down the stairs carefully 
bringing a dozen or two of them. Close behind 
them followed the other men, one having his arms 
full of pillows and bolsters, while the other carried 
three lengths of old stove-pipe. 

"We saved what we could," said one, with an 
evident consciousness of having done his duty. 

"Yes," said another, "and it's too hot to go 
back there, though there 's lots of furniture that 
has n't been touched yet." 

Meanwhile, the Hook-and-Ladder company had 
fastened one of their great hooks in the edge of the 
roof, and were hauling away, with a " Yo, heave, 
ho ! " to pull off the side of the house. They had 
only got it fairly started, separated from the rest of 
the frame by a crack of not more than five or six 
inches, when the chief-engineer came up and 



ordered them to desist, as he expected to be able 
to extinguish the fire. 

And now the engines were in full play. A little 
trap-door in the top of Cataract Eight's box was 
open, and the assistant foreman of Red Rover 
Three was holding" in it the nozzle of Three's hose, 
which discharged a terrific stream. 

The same was true of Big Six and Rough-and- 
Ready Seven. 

I never heard a more eloquent orator than the 
foreman of Cataract Eight, as he stood on the box 
of his engine, pounded with his trumpet on the 
air-chamber, and exhorted the men to "down with 
the brakes " ; " shake her up lively " ; " rattle the 
irons"; "don't be washed," etc., all of which ex- 
pressions seemed to have one meaning, and the 
brakes came down upon the edges of the box like 
the blows of a trip-hammer, making the engine 
dance about as if it were made of pasteboard. 

The foreman of Red Rover Three was also ex- 
cited, and things in that quarter were equally 

For a considerable time it was an even contest. 
Eight's box was kept almost full of water, and no 
more ; while it seemed as if both companies had 
attained the utmost rapidity of stroke that flesh 
and bones were capable of, or wood and iron could 

But at last four 'fresh men, belonging to Red 
Rover Three, who had been on some detached 
service, came up, leaped upon the box, and each 
putting a foot upon the brakes, added a k\v pounds 
to their momentum. 

The water rose rapidly in Eight's box, and in 
about a minute completely overflowed it, drenching 
the legs of her men, and making everything dis- 
agreeable in the vicinity. 

A shout went up from the by-standers, and 
Three's men instantly stopped work, took off their 
hats, and gave three tremendous cheers. 

We had washed her. 

Big Six was trying to do the same thing by 
Rough-and-Ready Seven, and had almost suc- 
ceeded, when the hose burst. Phaeton and I were 
standing within a step of the spot where it gave 
way, and we ourselves were washed. 

"Let's go home," said he, as he surrendered 
his ax and fire-hat to a Hook-and-Ladder man. 

"Yes," said I, "it 's time. They 've poured 
water enough into that house to float the Ark, and 
all the best of the fire is over." 

As we left the scene of our labors, I observed 
that my Sunday coat, besides being drenched, was 
split open across the back. 

" Phaeton," said I, calling his attention to the 
rent, " you forgot to throw off my coat when you 
went to work with the ax, did n't you ? " 

" That 's so," said he. " The fact is, I suppose 
I must have been a little excited." 

" I 've no doubt you were," said I. " Putting 
out fires and saving property is very exciting 

Chapter XVI. 


It was not yet morning, and my rope-ladder 
was still hanging out when Phaeton and T reached 
the house. We climbed up, and as soon as he 
could tic up his wet clothes in a bundle, he went 
down again and ran home. 

When our family were assembled at the break- 
fast-table, I had to go through those disagreeable 
explanations which every boy encounters before he 
arrives at the age when he can do what he pleases 
without giving a reason for it. At such a time, it 
seems to a boy as if those who ought to sympathize 
with him had set themselves up as determined 
antagonists, bringing out by questions and com- 
ments the most unfavorable phase of everything 
that has happened, and making him feel that, 
instead of a misfortune to be pitied, it was a crime 
to be punished. Looking at it from the boy's 
side, it is, perhaps, wisest to consider this as a 
necessary part of man-making discipline; but, from 
the family's side, it should appear, as it is, a 
cowardly proceeding. 

It was in vain that I strove to interest our family 
with vivid descriptions of how we jumped Red 
Rover Three, how we washed Cataract Eight, and 
how we saved Mr. Glidden's property. I suppose 
they were deficient in imagination ; they could 
realize nothing but what was before them, visible 
to the physical eye ; their minds continually 
reverted to the comparatively unimportant ques- 
tion as to how my clothes came to be in so dreadful 
a.condition. As if 't was any fault of mine that 
Big Six's hose burst, or as if I could have known 
that it would burst at that particular spot where 
Phaeton and I were standing. 

The only variation from this one-stringed harp 
was when they labored ingeniously to make it 
appear that the jumping, the washing, and the 
saving would all have been done quite as effectually 
if I had been snug in bed at home. 

Phaeton came over to tell me that Ned was 

"I don't wonder that we did n't happen to run 

across him in that big crowd," said he; " but I 

should n't think he 'd stay so long as this. Do you 

think anything can have happened to him ?" 

"What could happen?" said I. 

"He may have taken an ax, and ventured too 




far into some of the burning buildings," said 

" No," said I, after a moment's consideration ; 
"that would n't be like Ned. He might be very 
enthusiastic about taking care of the fire, but he 
would n't forget to take care of himself. However, 
I '11 go with you to look for him. " 

As we went up the street, we came upon Patsy 
Rafferty and Teddy Dwycr, pushing Phaeton's car 
before them, with Jimmy the Rhymer in it. They 
were taking him out to see what remained of the 
fire. Jimmy said he was getting well rapidly, and 
expected soon to be about again on his own legs. 

A few rods farther on, we met Ned walking 
toward home. 

" Hello ! Where have you been all this time?" 
said Phaeton. 

" Can't you tell by the feathers?" said Ned. 

" What feathers ? " 

" Jail-bird feathers. I 've been in jail all night.'' 

Of course we asked him how that came about, 
and Ned told us the story of his captivity, which 
the reader already knows. 

" But how did you get out?" said Phaeton, with 
natural solicitude. 

" Why, when 'Squire Moore came to the office 
and opened the court, I was brought out the first 
one. And when I told him my story, and whose 
boy I was, he said of course I was ; he 'd known 
Father too many years not to be able to tell one 
of his chickens as soon as it peeped. He advised 
me not to meddle any more with burglar things, 
and then told me to go home. 'Squire Moore 's 
the 'squire for my money ! But as for that stupid 
policeman, I '11 sue him for false imprisonment, 
if Aunt Mercy will let me have the funds to pay a 
lawyer. " 

"Aunt Mercy's pretty liberal with you," said 
Phaeton, "but she'll never give you any such 
amount as that." 

When Ned heard of our adventures at the fire, 
he fairly groaned. 

"It would be just like my luck," said he, "if 
there should n't be another good fire in this town 
for a year." 

The lost brother being found, Phaeton said the 
next thing to be done was to take home the 
bird he had rescued. I went with him on this 

As we approached the house, Phaeton carry- 
ing the bird-cage, a scene of desolation met our 
eyes. Nearly everything it contained had been 
brought out-of-doors, and had sustained more or 
less injury. The house itself, with all the windows 
and doors smashed out, the front burned to char- 
coal, the side so far wrenched apart from the rest 
of the frame that it could not be replaced, and the 

whole browned with smoke and drenched with 
water, was a melancholy wreck. 

Mr. Glidden and his son John stood in the yard 
looking at it, and their countenances, on the whole, 
were rather sorrowful. 

"Good-morning, Mr. Glidden," said Phaeton. 

"Good-morning, sir." 

" I should like to see Miss Glidden," said Phae- 

" She is at her aunt's, on West street," said Mr. 

Phaeton seemed a little disappointed. 

"I 've brought home her bird," said he. "I 
carried it out when the house was on fire, and took 
it up to our house for safety." 

" My sister will be very much obliged to you," 
said John Glidden. " I '11 take charge of it." 

Phaeton intimated his entire willingness to run 
over to West street with the bird at once, saying 
that he knew the house where she was staying, per- 
fectly well ; but John said he would n't trouble him 
to do that, and took the cage, which Phaeton gave 
up with some appearance of reluctance. 

" I don't believe the smell of smoke will be good 
for that bird," said Phaeton, as we walked away. 
"Canaries are very tender things. He'd better 
have let me carry it right over to his sister." 

" Yes," said I, " and relieve her anxiety of mind 
about it. But I suppose he knd his father are 
thinking of nothing but the house." 

"I don't wonder at that," said Phaeton. "It 
must be a pretty serious thing to have your house 
and furniture knocked to pieces in that way. And 
the water seems to do as much harm as the fire." 

" Yes, and the axes more than either," said I. 
"But it can't be helped. Houses will get on fire 
once in a while, and then, of course, they must 
either be put out or torn down." 

" I am inclined to think it can be helped," said 
Phaeton. "I 've been struck with an idea this 
morning, and if it works out as well as I hope, I 
shall be able to abolish all the engines and ax-men, 
and put out fires without throwing any water on 

"That would be a tremendous invention," said 
I. "What is it?" 

"Wait till I get it fully worked out," said he, 
"and then we '11 talk it over. It needs a picture 
to explain it." 

A day or two afterward, Phaeton asked me to go 
with him to see Jack-in-the-Box, as he had com- 
pleted his invention, and wanted to consult Jack 
about it. 

" By the way," said he, as we were walking up 
the street, "I received something this morning 
which will interest you." 

He took from his pocket, and handed me, a note 




written on delicate scented paper and folded up 
in a triangle. It was addressed to "Dear Mr. 
Rogers," and signed "V. Glidden." It acknowl- 
edged the receipt of the bird, and thanked him 
handsomely for his "gallantry in rescuing dear 
little Chrissy from the flames." 

" That 's beautiful," said I, as I folded it up and 
handed it back to Phaeton, who read it again 
before putting it into his pocket. 

" Yes," said he, " that 's lovely." 

"You never were called 'Mr. Rogers' before, 
were you?" said I. " No," said Phaeton. 

"I tell you what 't is, Fay," said I, "we're 
getting along in life." 

"Yes," said he; "youth glides by rapidly. It 
was only a little while ago that we had never run 
with a machine, never taken an ax at a fire, and 
— never received a note like this." 

"And now," said I, "we — that is, you — have 
made an invention to abolish all fire departments.' 

"If it works," said Phaeton. 

" I have n't the least doubt that it will," said I, 
although I had not the remotest idea what it was. 

Jack, who had just flagged a train, and was roll- 
ing up his flag as we arrived, cordially invited us 
into his box. 

" I want to consult you about one more inven- 
tion," said Phaeton, " if you 're not tired of them." 

"Never tired of them," said Jack. "I have 
found something to admire in every one you 've 
presented, though they were not all exactly practi- 
cable. The only way to succeed is to persevere. " 

"It 's very encouraging to hear you say so," 
said Phaeton. "The thing that I want to consult 
you about to-day is a method of putting out fires 
without throwing water upon the houses or chop- 
ping them all to pieces." 

"That would be a great thing," said Jack. 
" How do you accomplish it? " 

"By smothering them," said Phaeton. 

" I know you can smother a small fire with a 
thick blanket," said Jack, "but how are you going 
to smother a whole house when it is in a blaze ? " 

" If you will look at this drawing," said Phaeton, 
"you will easily understand my plan." And he 
produced a sheet of paper and unfolded it. 

" I first build a sort of light canvas tent," he 
continued, "somewhat larger than an ordinary 
house. It has no opening, except that the bottom 
is entirely open, and there is a long rope fastened 
to each of the lower corners. Then I have a bal- 
loon, to which this tent is fastened in place of a car. 
The balloon lifts the tent just as far as the ropes — 
which are fastened to something — will let it go." 

"That 's plain enough," said Jack. 

"Then," continued Phaeton, "whenever a fire 
occurs, the firemen (it needs only a few) take these 
ropes in their hands and start for the fire, the tent 
and balloon sailing along over their heads. When 
they get there, they let it go up till the bottom of 
the tent is higher than the top of the burning 
house, and then bring it down right over the 
house, so as to inclose it, and hold the bottom 
edge close against the surface of the ground till the 
fire is smothered." 

"•I see," said Jack; "the theory is perfect." 
" I have not forgotten," said Phaeton, "that the 


tent itself might take fire before they could fairly 
get it down over the house. To prevent that, I 
have a barrel of water below the balloon and above 
the tent, with a few gimlet-holes in the bottom ; 
so there is a continual trickle, which just keeps the 
tent too wet to take fire easily." 

"That 's clear," said Jack. "It 's the wet- 
blanket principle reduced to scientific form." 

" And how shall I manage it ? " said Phaeton. 

"As to that," said Jack, "the most appropriate 
man to consult is the chief-engineer." 

(To be continued.) 

6 9 6 




By Daniel C. Beard. 

The first introduction of the aquarium revealed 
another world and its inhabitants, — a world of en- 
chantment, far surpassing any described in the 
Arabian Nights or fairy tales, — a world teeming 
with life so strange that some of it we can 
scarcely believe to be real. 

The modern aquarium has laid bare 
secrets that have been locked in the breast 
of the ocean for ages. Through the 
crystal sides of the marine tanks are 
now shown living animals, of forms 
so lovely and delicate as to remind 
us of the tracery of frost-work. 
We can behold in the trans- 
parent waters fishes circling 
about, with distended 
fins that resemble the 
gorgeous wings of but- 

terflies ; and we can 
see, glancing here 
and there, other 
fish, the glit- 
ter of whose 
glossy sides 
dazzles us, 
and is 


various in hue as the rainbow ; and the rocks at 
the bottom are carpeted with animals in the forms 
of lovely flowers ! 

Although marine animals may surpass the in- 
habitants of fresh water in strangeness of form 
and tint, there are some fresh-water fish uDon 

appears to 
have lavish- 
ed her colors ; 
and there are 
enough aquatic 
objects to be found 
in any stream or 
pond, to keep all the 
readers of St. NICHO- 
LAS busy and happy for 
years in studying their 
habits and natural history. 
One must have a certain 
amount of knowledge of the 
habits of an animal before he 
can expect to keep it in a thriving 
condition in captivity. This knowl- 
edge is gained by observation, and 
success depends upon the common sense 
displayed in discreetly using the informa- 
tion thus obtained. 
Do not make the common mistake of sup- 
posing that an aquarium is only a globe or 
ornamental tank, made to hold a few lazy gold- 
fish, with a forlorn little turtle. But if you deter- 
mine to have an aquarium, have one whose contents 
will afford a constant source of amusement and in- 
struction — one that will attract the attention and 
interest of a visitor as soon as he or she enters the 
room where it is. Do not have china swans floating 
about upon the top of the water, nor ruined castles 
submerged beneath the surface. Such things are in 
bad taste. Generally speaking, ruined castles are 
not found at the bottoms of lakes and rivers, and 
china swans do not swim on streams and ponds. 



Sea-shells, corals, etc., should not be used in a fresh- 
water aquarium ; they not only look out of place, 
but the lime and salts they contain will injure both 
fish and plant. Try to make your aquarium a min- 
iature lake in all its details, and you will find the 
effect more pleasing to the eye. By making the 
artificial home of the aquatic creatures conform as 
nearly as possible to their natural ones, you can 
keep them all in a healthy and lively condition. 
At the bird-stores and other places where objects 

the advantageous distribution of its bulk over large 
spaces." In other words, flat, shallow vessels are 
the best. When quite a small boy, the writer 
discovered this fact by pouring half the minnows 
from a pail into a large flat dish, that he might 
better see them swim about ; here they were for- 
gotten for the time ; on the morrow all the fish in 
the pail were found to be dead, but those in the 
flat dish were perfectly lively and well. 

In the light of this fact, he set to work to build 


in natural history are sold, you may buy an 
aquarium of almost any size you wish, from 
the square tank with heavy iron castings to 
the small glass globe ; the globes come in ten sizes. 

If the manufacturers of aquaria in this country 
had made it their object to build vessels in which 
no respectable fish could live, they could hardly 
have succeeded better, for they all violate this first 
rule : The greater the surface of water exposed to 
the air, the greater the quantity of oxygen absorbed 
from the atmosphere. 

Amateurs never seem to learn that " the value 
of water depends not so much on its bulk, as on 


himself an aquarium. The materials for its con- 
struction were bought of the town-glazier and 
sign-painter's son. The amount paid was several 
marbles, a broken-bladed Barlow knife, and a 
picture of the school-teacher, sketched in lead- 
pencil upon the fly-leaf of a spelling-book. In 
exchange for this heap of wealth, the author 
received four pieces of window-glass, some red 
paint, an old brush, and a lump of putty. Two 
or three days' work resulted in the production of 

6 9 8 



an aquarium. It was only twelve inches long, 
eight inches wide, and four inches high; but, 
although this tank was small, it was a real aqua- 
rium, and would hold water and living pets. 




looked like bits of sticks ; young spoon-bill fish 
(paddle-fish), with exaggerated upper lips one- 
third the length of their scaleless bodies; funny 
little black cat-fish, that looked for all 
the world like tadpoles, and scores of 
other creatures. Under the green vege- 
tation in those spaces they found a safe 
retreat from the attacks of the larger fish. 

If possible, have your 
aquarium made under 
your own eye. Suppose 
you wish one two feet 
long; t^^n it should be 
sixteen inches wide and 
seven inches high, or 
24" x 7" X 16". Figure 
No. 1 shows an aquarium 
of the proper form and pro 
portions, in agreement with nature. Figure No. : 
shews the popular but unnatural and improper form 

If you wish to keep a turtle, a frog, a craw-fish, 
or any such animal, you should have your rockery 
so arranged that part of it will protrude above the 
water ; or, better still, have a land-and-water aqua- 


-y '-'V 


With a dip-net, made of an old piece of mos- 
quito-netting, what fun it was to explore the spaces 
between the logs of the rafts in front of the old 

saw-mill ! and what 
curious little animals 
were found lurking 
there ! Little gars, 
whose tinv forms 


rium, such as is shown in Figures Nos. 3 and 4. With 
a tank made upon this plan, you can have aquatic 
plants, as well as land plants and flowers, a sandy 
beach for the turtle to sleep upon, as he loves to 
do, and a rockery for the craw-fish to hide in and 
keep out of mischief. Some species of snails, too, 
like to crawl occasionally above the water-line. 
Such an aquarium makes an interesting object for 
the conservatory. 

Figure No. 5 shows how a fountain can be made. 
The opening of the fountain should be so small as 
to allow only a fine jet of water to issue from it ; 
the reservoir or supply-tank should be away out of 
sight and quite large, so that, by filling it at night, 
the fountain will keep playing all day. The waste- 
pipe should open at the level you intend to keep 
the water, and the opening should be covered with 
a piece of mosquito-netting, to prevent any creature 
from being drawn in. 

There used to be, in the window of a jewelry store 



in Newark, Ohio, an ordinary glass fish-globe, in 
which lived and thrived a saucy little brook-trout. 



Brook-trout, as most of my readers 
know, are found only in cool running 
water, and will not live for any great 
length of time in an ordinary aqua- 
rium. In this case, an artificial circu- 
lation of water was produced by means 
of a little pump run by clock-work. 
Every morning the jeweler wound up 
the machine, and all day long the lit- 
tle pump worked, pumping up the 
water from the globe, only to send 
it back again in a constant but small 
stream, which poured from the little 
spout, each drop carrying with it into 
the water of the globe a small quan- 
tity of fresh air, including, of course, 
oxygen gas. (See Figure No. 6.) And 
the little speckled trout lived and 
thrived, and, for aught I know to the 
contrary, is still swimming around in 
his crystal prison, waiting, with ever 
ready mouth, to swallow up the blue- 
bottle flies thrown to him by his friend 

the jeweler. It is a great 
mistake to suppose that 
it is necessary to change 
the water in an aquarium 
every few days. The tank 
should be so arranged as 
to require a change of 
water but very seldom. 
This is not difficult to 
accomplish, even without 
the help of a fountain 
or of clock-work. Both 
plants and animals 
breathe, and what is life 
to the plant is poison to 
the animal. They are like 

Jack Sprat 
and his wife. 
Animals ab- 
sorb oxygen 
and throw 
off carbon- 
ic acid gas ; 
this gas the 
plants in- 
hale, sepa- 
rating it in- 
to carbon 
and oxygen, 
the carbon, 

which is converted into their vegetable tissue, 
and throwing off the free oxygen, for the animals 



to breathe. So you see that, by having plants as 
well as animals in your tank, both classes are sup- 
plied with breathing material. When you start 
your aquarium, first cover the bottom with sand 
and gravel. Then 
build your rockery ; 
it is better to cement 
it together and into 

After this is all ar- 
ranged, go to the 
nearest pond, or 
creek, and dredge up 
some water-plants. 
Any that are not too 
large will do, — star- 
wort, millfoil, bladder- 
wort, pond-weed, etc. 
Fasten the roots of 
your plants to small figure no. 6. clock-work pump. 
stones with a bit of 

string, and arrange them about the tank to suit your 
taste. Fill the tank with water, and let it stand in 
the window for a week or two, where it will receive 
plenty of light, but no sun. By that time all your 
plants will be growing, and numerous other little 
plants will have started into l ;f e of 'heir own 
accord. Then you may add your animal and, if 
you do not overstock the tank, you need never 
change the water. Be sure not to handle the fish ; 
but when you wish to remove them, lift them 
gently with a dip-net. 

In an aquarium with a slanting bottom, only the 
front need be of glass ; the other three sides can 








^ JW _.---- _ \E -^e— 


be made of slate, which is also a good material 

for the false bottom. In ponds, rivers, and lakes, 

the only light received comes from above ; so we 

can understand that a vessel admitting light 

upon all sides, as well as from the top, forms 

an unnaturally luminous abode for 

fish. The glass front is sufficient for 

the spectator to see through. 

The author has a tank twenty-five 
inches long, eleven inches wide, and 
twelve inches high — far too narrow 
and deep ; but these defects have 
been, in a measure, overcome by 
filling it only two-thirds full of water, 
and allowing the green vegetation to 
grow undisturbed upon three sides 
\ • "-" 1^5-7---. of the aquarium ; the remaining 
side is kept clean by rubbing off 
; ^ all vegetable matter, once a week, 

with a long-handled bottle-washer. 
A rag, or a piece of sponge, tied upon the end of a 
stick, will answer the same purpose. This tank has 
been in a flourishing condition for three years, and the 
water has been changed only once, and then all the 
water was removed, so that some alteration could be 
made in the rockery. 

But one of the inmates has died since last summer, 
and that was a bachelor stickleback, who probably 
received a nip from the pincers of one of the craw-fish. 
Two of these creatures have their den in the rockery 
that occupies the center of the tank. A German carp, 
from the Washington breeding-ponds, browses all day 
long upon the mossy surface of the rocks, or roots 
around the bottom, taking great mouthfuls of sand and 
then puffing it out again like smoke. A striped dace 
spends most of his time lying flat upon his stomach on 
the bottom, or roosting like some subaqueous bird upon 
branches of the aquatic plants or on a submerged rock. 
A big and a little "killie" dart around after the boat- 
bugs, which they seldom catch, and if they do, they 
drop them again in great trepidation. A diminutive 
pond-bass asserts his authority over the larger fish in 
a most tyrannous manner. An eel lives under the 
sand in the bottom, and deigns to make his appearance 



only once in several months, much to the amaze- 
ment of the other inhabitants, all of whom seem to 
forget his presence until the smell of a bit of meat 
brings his long body from his retreat. Numerous 
little mussels creep along the bottom ; periwinkles 
and snails crawl up and down the sides; caddice- 
worms cling to the plants, and everything appears 

at home 
and con- 

And why 
Because their 
home is arranged 
as nearly as pos- 
sible like their 
natural haunts, 
where they were capt- 
ured. Learn the hab- 
its of any creature, 
and give it a chance 
to follow them, and you will 
find it comparatively easy to -- . _• 
keep it healthy in captivity. ' _~_iH 

Feed your fish on insects once 
or twice a week. Do not try to 
force them to eat ; if they are 
hungry, they need little persua- 
sion. Boat-bugs, whirligig-beetles, and, 
in fact, almost all the aquatic bugs and 
beetles, will eat lean, raw meat, if given 
to them in small bits. Remember that 
aquatic animals, like all other creatures, 
are very variable in their appetites ; some 
are gluttons, some eat sparingly, some prefer 
animal food, while others live entirely upon 
vegetable matter. Carp, dace, and such fish 
will eat bread ; bass, pickerel, and gars will not. 

Never allow any food to remain in the bot- 
tom of the aquarium to spoil, for it will contam- 
inate the water. The vegetarians in your tank 
will feed upon the plants growing therein, and 
they will all eat bread. Most fish will like the 
prepared food which you can obtain at any 

The group of fish swimming across page 696 

comprises some of the hardiest and most readily 
domesticated to be found in small lakes or ponds. 
In selecting fish for your aquarium, be careful to 
have the perch, sun-fish, and bass much smaller 
than the dace, carp, or gold-fish ; otherwise the 
last-named fish will soon find a resting-place inside 
the former. 

Never put a large frog in an aquarium, for he 
will devour everything there. A bull-frog that I 
kept in my studio for more than a year swallowed 
fish, live mice, and brown bats ; he also swallowed 
a frog of nearly his own size ; but when he in- 
gulfed a young alligator, we were almost as amazed 
as if he had swallowed himself. 

Craw-fish are very mischievous ; they pull up the 
plants, upset the rockery, nip the ends off the fishes' 
tails, crack the mussel-shells, pull out the inmates 
and devour them, squeeze the caddice-worm from 
his little log-house, and, in fact, are incorrigible 
mischief-makers. But, from that very fact, I 
always keep one or two small ones. The other 
inhabitants of the aquarium soon learn to dread 
the pincer of these fresh-water lobsters, and keep 
out of the way. Tadpoles are always an interesting 
addition to an aquarium. 

Pickerel and gars should be kept in an aqua- 
rium by themselves. 

Pond-bass make very intelligent pets. I once 
had three hundred of these little fellows, 
perfectly tame. Down in one corner of 
the corn-field I found two patent washing- 
machines, the beds of which were 
shaped like scow-boats. These old 
machines were fast going to 
ruin, and I readily gained per- 
mission to use them for 
; whatever purpose I wish- 
J ed ; so, with a hatchet, I 
knocked off the 
and top- 
gear ; then re- 
moved a side 
from each box, 
and fastened the 
two together, 
making a tank 
about four feet 






square. The seam, or crack, where the two the sides. Back of it I piled rocks, and planted 

parts joined, was filled with oakum, and the ferns in all the cracks and crannies. I also put 

whole outside was thickly daubed with coal-tar. rocks in the center of the tank, first covering the 

The tank was then set in a hole dug for that pur- bottom with sand and gravel. After filling this 

pose, and the dirt was filled in and packed around with water and plants, I put in three hundred little 

A F KESH- \VA T E R A Q U A R I U M . 


bass, and they soon became so tame that they 
would follow my finger all around, or would jump 
out of the water for a bit of meat held between 
the fingers. Almost any wild creatures will yield 
to persistent kind treatment, and become tame. 
Generally, too, they learn to have a sort of trustful 
affection for their keepers, who, however, to earn 
the confidence of such friends, should be almost 
as wise, punctual, and unfailing as good Dame 
Nature herself. 

One of the same bass, which 1 gave to a friend of 
mine, lived in an ordinary glass globe for three 
years. It was a very intelligent fish, but fear- 
fully spiteful and jealous. My friend's mother 
thought it was lonesome, and so, one day, she 
brought home a beautiful gold-fish — a little larger 
than the bass — to keep it company. She put the 
gold-fish in the globe, and watched the little bass, 
expecting to see it wonderfully pleased ; but the 
little wretch worked himself into a terrible pas- 
sion — erected every spine upon his back, glared a 
moment at the intruder, and then made a dart 
forward, seized the gold-fish by the abdomen, and 
shook it as a terrier dog shakes a rat, until the 

transparent water was glittering all over with a 
shower of golden scales. As soon as possible, the 
carp was rescued ; but it was too late. He only- 
gasped, and died. The vicious little bass swam 
around and around his globe, biting in his rage at 
all the floating scales. Ever after, he was allowed 
to live a hermit's life, and he behaved himself well. 
At last the family went away for a couple of weeks, 
and, when they returned, the poor little bass lay 
dead at the bottom of his globe. 

One more incident, and I must close : A certain 
young enthusiast in aquarium matters, waking 
suddenly one night, beheld the apparition shown 
on page 697. At one side of the room, in a 
wavering circle of light, a gaping monster was 
about to make one mouthful of a wriggling creat- 
ure as large as a cat. The cause of this strange 
vision soon appeared. The curtain of the window- 
had not been drawn down all the way, and a street- 
lamp, shining in, made a sort of combined magic- 
lantern lens and slide of a glass globe, in which 
some aquarium pets were quarreling. But the 
"wriggler" escaped somehow, and no harm was 






Par F. M. E. 

We shall be glad to receive translations of this from the girls and boys. The translators should give their full 
names, addresses, and ages, at the head of their papers, and should write on but one side of the sheet. That trans- 
lation which seems to us to be the best will be printed in the October number. Translations received at 743 
Broadway, New York, after August 1st will be too late to take part in the competition. 

promenent aux Champs Elysees, au Jardin 
des Tuileries, dans les rues, partout ou se 
peuvent trouver des enfants, ou meme des 
personnes plus agees, car la soif vient a tout 
le monde ; et quand il fait bien chaud, ils 
font de fameuses recettes. On les entend 
crier de leur voix penetrante : " A la fraiche, 
qui veut boire ! Voila le bon coco ! Regalez- 
vous, Mesdames — regalez-vous ! " Et apres ces 
assourdissants appels aux chalands, ils tintent 
la clochette qu'ils portent dans la 
main gauche. Cette sonnerie fait la fort- 
une du debitant de coco ; elle fait tant de 
bruit qu'il faut bien lui faire attention, ce qui 
est toujours bonne chose dans le commerce. 
Et puis la fontaine est si belle, qui pourrait 
y resister ? L'effet du velours cramoisi qui 
entoure les cylindres, est rehausse par les 
bords cuivres et par le bouquet luisant dans 
le soleil. Ce qui fait un ensemble visible de 
loin par les alteres. Et puis, cela ne coute , 
qu'un sou le verre ! 

Sur la poitrine, une des bretelles qui at- 
tachent la fontaine au dos du marchand, est 
percee a jour pour recevoir les gobelets dans 
lesquels il sert sa marchandise. Tout brille 
dans Vequipage, les gobelets sont argentes 
aussi bien que la clochette et le bouquet et 
les deux robinets qui passent dessous le bras 
gauche, l'un desquels donne du coco, et 
1'autre de l'eau pour rincer les gobelets. 
II se sert d'un coin de son tablier de toile, 
eblouissant de blancheur et de proprete, pour 
essuyer ses verres. Et pourtant ce tablier 
n'est jamais sale, on y voit toujours les plis 
faits par le fer de la blanchisseuse. Notre 
marchand de coco dans la gravure est 
chausse de gros sabots de paysan, mais 
cette partie du costume n'est pas de rigeur 
comme tout le reste. 
Autrefois un beau casque cmpanache coiffait le 
porte-fontaine, mais aujourd'hui la simple casquette 
d'ouvrier le remplace. 

Qui ne voudrait pas etre marchand de coco ? 
Quel beau metier ! Se promener toujours au soleil, 
et crier aux oreilles des petits enfants alteres : " A 
la fraiche, qui veut boire ! " 


Mes chers petits amis, savez-vous ce que c'est 
que ce jeune homme si drolement pare ? II est 
marchand de coco, cette boisson delicieuse faite du 
bois de reglisse broye dans de l'eau glace. A 
Paris on les voit partout, ces marchands, avec le 
beau bouquet argente de leur fontaines, scintillant 
comme une oriflamme au-dessus de la tete. Ils se 



By William O. Stoddard. 



^11111111%-, i w 



[SEE PAGE 709. 

Chapter VII. 


THE Ramblers' Club was not a difficult body to 
form. All that was needed, as far as that Saturday 
was concerned, was for Otis Burr, Jeff Carroll, and 
Charley Ferris to come around to Will Torrance's 
as soon as possible after breakfast. Jack Roberts 
would also have been there but for a message Belle 
brought him from Milly Merriweather and Mr. 
Ayring. They wanted to consult with him about 
such May-festival appointments as were to be 
divided among the Park boys. 

As for inviting anybody else on that first trip, 
Vol. VIII.— 45. 

Otis Burr had vetoed it with: "No, Will, four of 
us '11 be enough if we 're going to have a good 
time, and it wont do to have more if we 're not." 

There was sense in that, especially as they had 
only one dog and one gun among them, both 
belonging to Will. 

Will Torrance's " Tiger" was a cross between a 
setter and a Newfoundland, and combined the 
brains of one with the size and shaggy coat of the 
other. He was bounding ahead of the boys now, 
in search of fun, and not only chickens but much 
larger animals, ill-disposed men included, were 
quite likely to treat him with civility. 

The "ramble" of that day was to be made 
along the western shore of Oneoga Lake. 




This was a pretty piece of fresh water, one end of 
which came down to the northern side of Saltillo. 
It was about six miles long and not more than two 
miles wide at the widest place, and the eastern 
shore was all villages and farms. 

The western side was wilder, being about equally 
divided between swamps and woodland, and the 
lake itself had been long ago " fished out." 

"Four boys and only one gun," remarked a 
farmer, from his seat in his wagon, as they passed 
him in the road, just before they climbed the last 
fence and struck off into the sandy flats along the 
lake shore. 

"Will," exclaimed Charley, "we must kill 

" There 's a chipping-bird," said Otis Burr. 
" You can make up a string of them." 

" Hold on, boys " 

Will suddenly darted ahead, for Tiger was stand- 
ing still near the bank of a very small brook and 
seemed to be looking at something. 

"He 's pointing," said Jeff; "he 's doing his 
best for his size." 

The boys did not exactly hold their breaths, but 
nothing louder than a whisper came from them as 
they saw their sportsman slip along the bank of 
the brook and raise his gun to his shoulder. 

It was a single-barreled gun, but it went off with 
a very encouraging report. 

"Loud enough to scare any small bird to death," 
said Otis. 

" Did you get him ? Did you get him ? " shouted 
Charley, as Will sprang forward. 

"What was it?" asked Jeff. " I did n't see any 

They were smaller birds than geese, and it was 
no wonder Tiger had been the only member of the 
Club to detect their presence in the neighborhood. 
All the rest saw some kind of winged creatures fly 
away ; but Will was picking up something. 

" Six of em," he shouted, " at one shot ! " 

"What are they?" 

"What are they, Charley? Don't you know 
sandpipers when you see them ? They 're the 
smallest kind of snipe." 

"Give me one to carry," said Jeff, — "one in 
each hand, to balance me. Are n't they a heavy 
game! " 

They were bigger than chipping-birds, but there 
was little more to be said about them, excepting that 
they were long-billed, long-legged, and "snipey" 
in their aspect, and could really be cooked and 

" Two or three hundred of 'em would make a 
prime dinner for the Club," remarked Otis. 

"We '11 get some more as we go along the flats. 
We can take turns shooting. I '11 load up." 

That was quickly done, and Charley Ferris came 
in for the next turn, almost as a matter of course. 

It was better fun now, with a beginning made, 
and a possibility of something more ; and the Club 
marched on, with Charley about a rod in advance. 

"Tip-up! tip-up ! " exclaimed Will, before three 
minutes were over. " Tige is away. He never 
lets 'em 'light. There, Charley, one has lit. See 
it tip-up ?" 

Another kind of snipe — but, as Jeff observed, 
"not large enough to hurt him "—had alighted on 
an old log in the brook, and was "practicing his 
motions" in his own way, — that is, his head and 
tail rose and fell in quick alternation, as if he 
were trying to keep his balance on the log, and 
had a good deal of " tetering" to do to avoid fall- 
ing off. 

It was a short shot, but Charley was excited. 
He was sure he was aiming at that bird up to the 
moment when he pulled the trigger. The gun 
went off just as it should have done, and the report 
spoke well for the size of the charge; but the 
saucy "tip-up" only gave another "teter," and 
then flew swiftly away toward the lake. 

"Missed him ! " 

"No, I did n't. I must have hit him; he flies 
as if he had been wounded. Tige is after him." 

Tiger was running in that direction, certainly ; 
but the bird was already out of sight ahead of him, 
and the wise dog gave it up and began to smell at 
some tracks on the sand. 

"Your turn next, Jeff," said Will. "I 've 
brought plenty of ammunition." 

"My turn, is it? Well, then, you wait till I 
stick up a mark, — something that wont fly away 
after I 've hit it." 

By the time the gun was loaded, Jeff had pinned 
an old letter envelope to the bark of a tree not far 
away, and his "game," as he called it, was all 
ready for him. There was no danger of his 
getting excited about it, and he tried in vain to 
coax Tiger into making a "point" at the tree. 

Bang ! And then four boys ran forward to see 
if any of the shot had hit the paper. 

" Six, — seven, — eight ! " said Charley. " Jeff, if 
that had been a 'tip-up,' it would have been spoiled. 
I fired just a little above mine. It tears a bird all 
to pieces to put too many shot into it." 

It was Otis Burr's turn to shoot, but Will 
reminded them that standing still and shooting at 
a mark was not exactly " rambling." 

" Let 's ramble, then," said Otis. " Put in your 
biggest shot for me ; I 'm after something larger 
than 'tip-ups' and sandpipers." 

That end of the lake was as level as a floor, not 
only on land, but underwater. The "sand-flat" 
reached nearly to the edge of the city itself, but 




there were no houses on it, — nothing but long 
ranges of low, flat-looking, wooden-roofed sheds. 
The water at the margin was as shallow as it well 
could be, and any one of the boys could have 
waded out a quarter of a mile without getting 
beyond his depth. They knew this well enough, 
but it was too cold for wading yet, and no one pro- 
posed a trial. As for the sheds, they knew all 
about them, and there was no "ramble" to be 
had there. They were "solar salt-works," — great 
wooden pans set up just above the ground, — and 
the shed-roofs were their sliding covers, which 
would not be removed till steady, warm weather 
should come. Acres on acres of sand-flats were 
covered in that way. 

The boys walked along as they talked, and soon 
began to pass the curve toward the western shore. 
They could look back now and see the city, and 
the tall chimneys of the "boiling-works," where 
salt was made in a quicker way than by drying it 
out by sunshine in vats. 

Each one of those tall chimneys stood up at the 
end of a big wooden building, and that, they 
knew, covered a long, double row of huge iron 
kettles, set in a range of brick-work, with a fire 
constantly burning under them ; and there were 
men busy there now scooping out the salt from the 
boiling-kettles with long-handled iron ladles. 

It was agreeable enough to look at and think of, 
but the kind of rambling they were doing was 
more like " Saturday work," as Jeff called it. 

"Right out there, boys," said Will, — " half a 
mile out, — there 's a salt-spring comes up, from 
the bottom of the lake. There 's a bigger one on 
the east side, and they 've rigged a pump to it." 

"I don't believe there 's any salt-spring," said 
Jeff. "The lake would be salt, if it were fed in 
that way." 

"Look at the salt on the sand, then. There 's 
salt coming out of everything around here. It 
makes the sand-fere grow." 

"William!" exclaimed Charley, with great dig- 
nity, "you astonish me. As Mr. Hayne would 
say, 'What, a scholar of this school saying sand- 
fere ' ? No, young gentlemen, the proper word to 
employ is ' samphire.' " 

" You may call it as many names as you please, 
but it 's a good weed for pickles. Hello, Ote, it 's 
your turn. Do you see, out there ? " 

" On the water? I see " 

"Ducks, my boy — ducks ! " 

Two black spots bobbed up and down, at quite a 
distance from shore, and four pairs of eyes agreed 
in an instant as to what they were. 

The shore ahead of them was dreadfully muddy, 
and the water at the edge somewhat deeper than 
at the southern end of the lake. A little way back, 

too, were scattered a dozen or so of the rude cabins 
of the salt-boilers, and around these were to be 
seen a mixed population of ragged and happy 
children, pigs, poultry, cats, dogs, and even a cow 
or two. 

Tiger was keeping an eye out for those dogs, 
several of whom had already sent a warning bark 
to notify him that he was a stranger, and they were 
ready for him. 

" Keep right along, boys. They 're swimming 
toward the shore. They '11 come in farther up. 
Never mind the mud." 

Will was speaking of the ducks, and the rest 
of the Club imitated his example in tucking their 
trousers into their boots. Low shoes would have 
had a hard time of it in the rambling they did for 
the next five minutes. 

Either those ducks were blind or they were so 
used to seeing the salt-boilers' boys along the shore 
that they had lost all fear of human beings. 

If they could but have known that those four 
now present were a Club, with a gun, and that it 
was Otis Burr's turn to shoot ! 

There was no one to warn them, however, and 
in they came, over the bright little waves, taking 
their own time to it, and giving Otis, therefore, 
time to get himself into such a fever of expectation 
that he thought he had never in his life seen so 
large a pair of water-fowl or such slow swimmers. 

Bang ! — at last. 

Tiger gave his master a look that seemed to 
ask some kind of question, but he at once bounded 
forward and into the water. 

He brought them in, one at a time — the first 
one dead and the second so badly hurt that it 
could not get away from him. 

"Got 'em both," said Otis, trying hard to look 
unconcerned, as if he killed ducks every day. 

"Splendid pair!" said Charley, but Will Tor- 
rance was looking closely and silently at the one 
he held in his hand. 

"We 've done it, boys. We 've done it. 
They 're tame ducks ! " 

"Will! You don't say so ! " 

" Don't I ? And here comes the fine old lady 
they belong to." 

She was coming, sure enough. 

"Don't run, boys," said Charley. "We must 
stand by Ote." 

Running was out of the question, in that mud, 
but Charley's heroism was the correct thing, for all 

" Murtherin' me ducks? Is it that, ye spal- 

Besides this they gathered little of the torrent 
of angry brogue that the elderly Irish settler 
poured upon them as she came up ; but by the 




time she was out of breath, Otis Burr was as calm 
as a fence-post. 

" I 've killed them for you, nicely, ma'am. 
Teach 'em not to run away again." 

"Is it run away? Av ye don't pay me for 
thim, then now ! " 

"Pay? Well, I don't care if I do. Maybe 
they are worth something. Ten cents " 

"Tin cints? Is it tin cints ye 're talkin' of? 
Av ye don't pay me a quarther dollar for aich on 
'em, I '11 have the law on ye." 

"Half a dollar for a pair of ducks like these? 
And carry 'em home myself?" 

Chapter VIII. 


JACK ROBERTS had been deprived of his in- 
tended day out with the Ramblers' Club, but he 
found compensation. He and Belle met Mr. 
Ayring and Milly Merriweather at the music store, 
and it soon became plain that the newly elected 
"Queen" was not disposed to be despotic. 

She insisted on making Jim Swayne "First 
Herald," so he would be the first boy to come upon 
the stage, and that suited Mr. Ayring. 


"It takes Otis Burr!" Charley was whispering 
to Will. " She 'd have scared me out of a dollar." 

It was about a fair price, as ducks were going, 
and Otis soon consented, as the old lady said, "to 
hear reason." He paid for his game like a man, 
and picked them up. 

" Carry one of 'em, Charley. I move we ramble. 
There 's a crowd coming." 

A glance confirmed him. 

Every shanty in sight seemed to be sending out 
somebody, and it was plainly time to move on. 

"You ought to put on Jeff Carroll next," sug- 
gested Jack, with a grin. 

For some reason or other, Mr. Ayring preferred 
Will Torrance, and Belle herself said : 

" Neither of them would care much for it. 
Jeff would n't, I know, and Will may think he 's 
too big." 

"They'll have to do it," said Jack, "whether 
they like it or not." 

It was all settled nicely, in a half-hour's council, 
and when Milly went home, Jack walked off with 



her; for, as he said, "I 'm to be one of your 
marshals and I must begin to practice." 

Belle had an errand at the book-store, but she 
might not have gone in, perhaps, if she had known 
whom she was to meet standing by one of the 
counters. There was no help for it, and, after all, 
she and Fanny Swayne were good friends, and had 
known and played with each other from the time 
they were both very little girls. They were " young 
ladies" now, and the gray-haired book-seller, who 
saw them shaking hands, thought he had never 
seen two prettier or more intelligent faces together. 

"Hard to say which is the prettier," he said to 
himself: "splendid girls, both of them." 

And Fanny took care to be the first to mention the 
May festival, very much to Belle's relief, and to say : 

"I am glad they made so good a selection. 
Milly is a sweet little girl, — just the right age." 

Belle assented, and everything would have gone 
along nicely if it had not been for the arrival of 
more company. 

Jim Swayne came in after his sister, and nobody 
knew what Pug Merriweather came for. His 
errand took him to the back end of the store, and 
he was on his way out when his keen little eyes 
began to study that group by the counter. 

"Jack and Milly went home, Miss Roberts." 

"Did they? And are you not going too?" 

"Guess I am; pretty soon." 

"Are you Milly Merriweather's brother? Do 
you know me ? " asked Fanny. 

"You 're Jim Swayne's sister, are n't you ? You 
're not the queen, though." 

"No," said Fanny, with a laugh ; "your sister is 
queen. Will you tell her I 'm glad of it ? " 

"Yes, I '11 tell her. So is everybody else but 
her. She says you 'd have made a better queen ; 
but you would n't. She voted for you ; so I had 
to vote twice. Milly is n't real sharp." 

"Well, but she 's only a girl ! " 

" That is n't it. Some girls are as sharp as boys ; 
some boys are n't sharp, either. Jeff Carroll says 
Jim '11 be sharp enough to paint his tickets next 
time. Jeff 's sharp." 

"You 'd better run home, Pug," snapped Jim, 
" or there '11 be somebody after you, first thing you 

Pug knew enough of Jim to take warning; but 
he had a question to ask before he went. 

" Miss Roberts, what 's a page ? " 

" Something to read, do you mean ? " 

"Is that it? Then I wont, that's all. Milly 
said I might be one of her pages, but if I 've got 
to stand up and read anything " 

"Oh, they wont make you do that," laughed 
Fanny; " run right along now, and don't forget to 
tell your sister just what I told you." 

He was out of the door, as Jim said : 

" Like one of these little black-and-tan terrier 
dogs that can't stand still half a minute." 

Pug had not done any harm by what he had 
said, however, and that was something, considering 
what a reckless tongue he had. There came still 
another chance to use it, later in the day, when he 
met the Ramblers' Club on their way home. 

They had made good speed away from the neigh- 
borhood of the shanties, even Tiger setting them 
an example of rapid motion ; and they had waded, 
and walked, and floundered for two or three hours 
along the lake-shore ; at last, however, they had, 
as Jeff said, " given up finding a north-west pas- 
sage around the lake," and had even caught a ride 
on a wagon, after they came out into a road and 
started for home. 

The gun had been fired again and again, before 
that, and the Club had unanimously voted to keep 
all they killed. 

" The mud '11 stick to us," said Otis Burr, " and 
we might as well stick to our game." 

It was that which called for remarks from Pug, 
as he trotted around them, staring at one "string" 
after another. 

" Ote has a duck, so has Charley, and they 
must have stolen 'em. Jeff Carroll has three 
blackbirds. I know what Will Torrance is lugging. 
It 's sandpipers and two tip-ups. Jeff 's got, — 
well, I say, if it is n't a rat ! " 

The latter animal had been shot on their way 
home, and Jeff declared it a rabbit, and that 
he would carry it in. There were more black- 
birds, and the only reason why there were no 
crows was, because they had fired at five in suc- 
cession without killing one. 

On the whole, it had been a grand day's fun, up 
to the moment when the Club reached the lower 
end of the Park, and a mob of Pug's small-boy 
friends came along from one direction, just as Mr. 
Hayne appeared on the other side. 

"Boys! boys!" screamed Pug. "Look here! 
They Ve been a-huntin' ! Stealin' ducks and rat- 
killin'. Look at what they 've got. Birds, too ! " 

Mr. Hayne smiled, and the hearts of the Club 
sank as the smile on his face grew wide. 

It was evident that he was trying to keep it 
down, or at least not to hurt their feelings, but 
smile he did, for he could not help it. 

They were a muddy Club, and their faces were 
well marked with gunpowder. Their very dog was 
wet, and had a tired, slouchy look. 

"I hope you have had a pleasant time, young 
gentlemen. Have you been hunting ?" 

"Oh, no, by no means," said Jeff. "We 've 
been rambling." 





" Yes, sir. This is a part of the Ramblers' Club. 
We 've been shooting at a mark, a little." 

"And brought your targets home with you, 
I see. What is that you have, Mr. Burr?" 

"Ignorant people call it a duck, Mr. Hayne. 
They were common, once, but they 're rare, now. 
I killed this one on Oneoga Lake." 

" Ah ! Yes. Very rare bird, excepting in barn- 
yards. I hope the owner was paid for it." 

"It's an Irish duck," interrupted Jeff. " Ote 
wanted a specimen to study." 

" I see. And you mean to give your spare 
time to the study of rats and blackbirds ? " 

"Is that really a rat, Mr. Hayne? I suspected 
the blackbirds." 

That half of the Club was, by all odds, better off 
than the other half in the kind of ability called 
for just then, and Charley and Will would have 
given something to let their friends do the talking, 
but Pug appeared between them with a hand on 
each of their strings of "game." 

"Oh, Mr. Hayne, look at these, too. Sand- 
pipers ! Another duck and lots of things." 

The second duck and the diminutive snipe were 
too much for Mr. Hayne. He laughed long and 
merrily. "Go ahead, young gentlemen. It's 
good fun, I dare say. Don't fail to let me know 
what you bring home, next time." 

" The next time, Mr. Hayne?" said JefT Carroll, 
gravely. "Every man is to take a gun. " 

"May I suggest an idea?" said the master. 

" Do, please, Mr. Hayne," stammered Will, who 
now began to have fears for the future of his Club. 

" Well, then, take hammers instead of guns, 
some day, and bring home a small piece of every 
rock you find, but no one of you to bring two 
pieces of the same kind." He bowed and smiled, 
and walked on, as he concluded ; but the Club 
stood looking at one another for a moment. 

"Let 's try it," exclaimed Otis Burr. 

"Next Saturday, Will. I 'm ready," said 
Charley. " There 's no end of rocks off south." 

"Boys," remarked Jeff, "I can't talk till I 've 
washed my face and had something to eat." 

These being the urgent needs, the Club broke 
up and went home in peace. 

(To be continued.) 





By Mrs. E. T. Corbett. 

MISS MOLLY MOGG and Miss Lucy Lee 
Were playing under the apple-tree, 
Just as happy as happy could be; 
When — all at once — 
That little dunce, 

Miss Lucy, began to scream and cry: 
" Oh, Molly Mogg, make haste and fly ! 
Here 's a horrible thing, 
With a frightful sting, 
Coming to catch us ! Oh, dear ! Oh, my ! " 

She dropped her book, 

And her dolly, too, 
Screaming: "Look! Molly, look! 

He 's close to you ! 
These dreadful things, 
With wings — and stings — 

I never could bear ! Oh, kill him ! Do ! " 

Said Molly Mogg, sternly: "Lucy Lee, 

What a silly, absurd, little goose you must be ! 

It 's plain to me 

You don't know your Natural History; 

If you did, you could see 

That this is a beautiful, beautiful creature, 

Of grace unrivaled in form and feature. 

Just pause, Lucy, pause : 

See his wings of fine gauze, 

And his wonderful, — yes, my dear, — wonderful, 

claws ! 
Would you like me to tell 
His name, Lucy? Well, 
It is ' Mega-thum-ollopod-tentcr-hook-daws ' ! " 

But poor Lucy Lee 

Would n't listen — not she — 

To a bit of this Natural History. 

Away she ran crying, 

Her road never eying, 

While over her head the great insect was 

So she ran till she came to the well, 
When straightway into the bucket she fell ! 
In a half-hour after, with call and shout, 
The farmer's family pulled her out ; 
While the " Mega-thum-ollopod " flew about, 
And thought it was all very queer, no doubt. 

Miss Molly Mogg, so wise and clever, 
Said: "Such a goose I never saw, — never! 
To think that she ran, without any cause, 
From a ' Megathumollopodtenterhookdaws ' ! " 







By Felix L. Oswald. 

Chapter IX. poor animals, we were glad to take refuge in a 

cabana, or military guard-house, on the ridge of 

Two weeks after our departure from the Indian the Sierra de San Bias. The Indians of the upper 

Mission, we reached the foot-hills of the Andes in a Orinoco are almost as savage as our Camanches 

drenching rain-storm. It was the first bad weather and Apaches, and the white people have to guard 


we had experienced since our landing at Acapulco : 
the last ten days it had rained incessantly from 
every noon till night ; at first it was merely a sort 
of drizzling fog, but when we reached the hills the 
water fell in torrents, and after a stormy night, 
without a camp-fire and without shelter for our 

their settlements by a chain of military posts, 
generally located on the ridge of some mountain- 
range that affords a good lookout over the surround- 
ing hills and valleys. But the republic of New 
Granada is a very poor country, and can not afford 
to maintain regular forts, with officers, garrisons.. 



and cannons, and most of their cabanas are in 
charge each of a single soldier — a mere picket- 
sentry, who has to be well acquainted with the 
habits and haunts of the Indians, and at the first 
sign of danger gallops to the next settlement to 
give the alarm. The solitary guardsman then on 
the mountain of San Bias was so glad to have a 
little company that he did his utmost to make us 
comfortable, but his cabana was a poor sample of 
a fortress, log-built, without glass windows and with 
a rather defective roof, and if the weather had not 
been so stormy we should have preferred to camp 
under a good tree. 

Still, we did not regret the delay, for on the 
second evening there arrived at San Bias z.giiarda- 
mayor from Bogota, a military officer whose busi- 
ness it was to inspect the cabanas and see to it that 
the sentries were at their posts. San Bias being a 
frontier fort, Captain Matias, as the sentry called 
him, intended to return the next morning, and as 
the storm had at last abated, we were very glad to 
accompany him. Like many of his countrymen, the 
Captain treated Indians as things devoid of soul 
and sense, but in his intercourse with white people 
he was as courteous as a Spanish cavalier, and we 
found him a very agreeable traveling-companion — 
jolly, adventurous, well acquainted with the history 
and the Indian antiquities of the country, and full 
of entertaining stories. 

The grassy table-lands of New Granada swarm 
with coyotes, or prairie-wolves, and whenever we 
met one of these creatures the Captain put spurs to 
his horse and chased the wolf till he ran it down, 
but generally let it off if it lay down and sur- 
rendered at discretion. On one of these chases he 
came across the nest of a crested turkey with fifteen 
or twenty young ones, and, reining up his horse, 
he called to us and helped us to hunt the little 
long-legs that darted through the grass in every 
direction. The boys never had such fun, although 
we caught only six of the chicks, the rest managing 
to escape into the thick juniper-bushes of the 

That afternoon and all the next day, our trail led 
through the highlands of the Sierra Cauca, steeper 
and steeper uphill, until we came to a ridge that 
seemed to form the summit of all the surrounding 
mountains ; but when we got up, we saw that the 
worst was to come yet. On the other side of the 
table-land, and high above us, rose the main chain 
of the Western Andes, with their glittering peaks 
and awful precipices — lofty, threatening battlements 
that seemed to defend the approach to the cloud- 
land of the central plateau. 

"No, it is n't as bad as it looks," laughed the 
Captain, when he noticed our consternation. " Our 
road keeps along the northern slope, and you will 

now find a good bridge over every ravine ; this is 
the camino real, the old highway of the Incas."* 

" Why, you are right," said I, when we passed a 
rock that rose in a series of regular terraces and 
parapets. " This looks like an artificial esplanade ; 
there must have been a castle up there." 

" No, it 's an Indian cemetery," said the Captain 
— "the catacombs of Las Penas, as they call it. 
Come this way — we can take a look at it before we 
go into camp ; it is a curious old wizard's den." 

We followed him over heaps of rubbish and 
broken columns to the upper platform, where a nar- 
row portal opened into the interior of a dark rock- 

" We should have taken our lantern along," said 
I ; "I am afraid we shall not see much of all those 

The Captain chuckled. " You will hear so 
much the more," said he; "just come along." At 
the entrance of the cave the ground was covered 
with all kinds of debris and potsherds, but farther 
back stood a vast number of massive earthen urns, 
as thick and wide as the kettles our asphalt-pavers 
use to boil their pitch in. The urns stood close 
together by scores and hundreds, although here 
and there narrow interspaces formed winding paths, 
that seemed to lead far back into a continuous 
labyrinth of pottery and rocks. If these vessels 
had really been filled with human bones, the cave 
must have been the cemetery of a populous city, 
for all the urns farther back were filled with some- 
thing that felt like a mixture of ashes and bits of a 
harder stuff — perhaps fragments of the trinkets the 
Indians used to bury with their dead. 

Following one of the winding paths, we came to 
a side-vault of the cave, where the Captain sud- 
denly stopped, and, putting his hands to his 
mouth, gave a whoop that made the whole vault 
ring. Tommy clutched me with both arms, for, in 
the same instant, almost, the cave became a pande- 
monium of unearthly sounds, — shrieks, hoots, and 
croaking yells, — and from the recesses of the den 
came cries so nearly resembling the groans of a 
human being that our two Indians made a simul- 
taneous rush for the door. The uproar drowned 
my exclamations, and I could not understand the 
Captain's reply, although I heard enough to suspect 
that he was almost choked with laughing. 

"What, in the name of sense, was all that?" I 
asked, when we finally emerged from the den. 

"Don't you see them?" laughed the Captain, 
pointing to the entrance, where a number of long- 
winged birds were now fluttering to and fro, — 
" caprimulgas, — goat-suckers, — about forty or 
fifty thousand of them. They have their roosts 
in that cave, and if you wake one, you wake them 
all. They can out-scream a wild-cat." 

* Incas. 

>iupc, anu \uu win tiii. 1 iicy can uui-bLieai 
. — rulers of the country before its conquest by the Spaniards. 




"Hallo, where is the dog?" asked Tommy, 
when we unhitched our mule. 

" I saw him charging around in the rocks when 
we came out of that witch-hole," said Menito; 
"he was running down-hill the last I saw of him." 

" I think he is after the ' sexton,' " said the Cap- 
tain. " There is a panther who has long made his 
head-quarters somewhere near here. I have seen 
him three or four times. My soldiers used to call 
him the ' Indian Sexton.' " 

We had pitched our tent on the shore of a little 
mountain-lake when Rough at last returned, as 
full of burs and stickers as if he had ranged the 
jungles of twenty sierras. We thought he had 
had his fill of hunting for that day ; but, half an 
hour after, we heard him again barking and 
scratching in a copse of mesquite-trees behind our 
tent, and we found that he was routing out a nest 
of armadillos, — those strange creatures that look 
like a cross between a fox and a lizard, being 
mammals in their habits and the construction of 
their internal organs, but with the scales and the 
tail of a reptile. We caught three of them — two 
for our collection and one for Rough's supper. 

It was a beautiful night — not a cloud in the sky ; 
and the lake so clear that it reflected every bright 
star in the firmament. When the moon rose over 
the heights of the Sierra de Cauca, it painted the 
water with silver streaks and spangles, and revealed 
the fantastic outlines of the lime-stone cliffs along 
the shore. 

"Do you see those tall rocks over yonder?" 
said the Captain. "They call this tarn the 
Laguna de Tres Hcnnanas [the " Lake of the 
Three Sisters"], and those rocks are supposed to 
be three enchanted virgins." 

"They are? Oh, please tell us all about it!" 
cried Tommy. 

"All right; only there isn't much to tell," said 
the Captain. "It is nothing but a strange old 
Indian tradition. About three hundred years ago, 
when the Spaniards first conquered this country, 
'there lived up here a stadtholder of the Incas — 
an old chieftain, as poor as the barren heights of 
his sierra, but his three daughters were the hand- 
somest girls in the land, and one of them was a 
Priestess of the Moon. But, after the downfall of 
the empire, Pizarro's troopers invaded this valley ; 
the old chieftain was slain in the pass of Las 
Salsas, and, when the news of the disaster reached 
his house, the three sisters fled toward the lake, 
with a troop of soldiers in hot pursuit. At the 
head of this bay the girls hoped to find a canoe, 
and escape in the twilight to the opposite shore ; 
but when they reached the landing the boat was 
gone, and, in their great distress, they prayed to 
the Moon to receive their souls and transform their 

bodies. The moon was concealed by a veil of 
clouds, and the three girls gave themselves up for 
lost ; but just before the troopers reached the lake, 
the clouds parted, and where a minute ago the 
three sisters had stood with uplifted arms, the 
soldiers found three rocks of white limestone, — 
Las Tres Hermanas, as they are called to this day. 
The Moon had answered their prayer." 

The day before we left the cabana, Tommy had 


sprained his ankle, and, his foot being still a little 
stiff, I had permitted him to ride ; but the next 
morning he dismounted of his own accord, and 
preferred to limp along as well as he could. 

"I wont trust my life to a mule," said he; "if 
I am going to break my neck, I want to know the 
reason why." 

To slip from the " highway of the Incas" would, 
indeed, have been a matter of life and death. The 
precipices at our feet descended like tower-walls, 
and we passed places where a stone, dropped from 
my outstretched hand, would have fallen a couple 
of thousand feet without ever touching as much as 
a projecting cliff. Farther up, though, the valley 
became narrower, and at last shrank to a mere 
gulch, hardly thirty feet across, but still of frightful 



depth. On our other hand rose a steep mountain- 
wall, and often we had to pick our way between 
the broken bowlders that had fallen from the cliffs 
above. But these wild rocks were not quite unin- 
habited. Small mountain-weasels gamboled in the 
clefts, and a little way ahead a bush-wolf was sit- 
ting at the edge of the canon, and allowed us to 
approach within a hundred yards before he loped 
lazily away. 

" Hallo, Captain ! there is one of your friends," 
laughed Tommy ; " he does not seem to be in any 
hurry. I suppose he knows that you cannot course 
him on a road like this." 

"Listen! I hear a friar's bell," said Menito ; 
"there is a priest coming down this way. Now 
that wolf is in a bad fix, after all ; we shall get him 
somehow or other." 

"Yes, he had better confess his sins to that 
friar," laughed the Captain. "His time is up, 
unless he can clamber up that rock- wall." 

When the friar came in sight, the wolf seemed 
to realize its dilemma. It stopped, and, after an 
uneasy glance at the steep mountain above it, 
turned its head toward the canon, and, crouching 
down till its breast almost touched the ground, it 
made a sudden leap at the opposite bank. It 
came nearer succeeding than we had thought pos- 
sible, and, if the slope of the chasm had been a 
little less steep, the poor creature might have saved 
itself, after all. As it was, the loose sand gave 
way under its feet, and down it went, head over 
heels, into an apparently bottomless abyss. A 
second after, our dog reached the place from 
which the poor wolf had taken its fatal leap. 
Instead of barking, Rough looked silently at the 
canon, and then averted his head with a sort of 

"That canon must be nearly a mile deep," said 
Tommy. " I am almost sorry for the coyote." 

" Not I," said Daddy Simon ; " he had no busi- 
ness to be so foolish as all that — -to be afraid of a 
friar ! The idea ! — and a Franciscan friar at that ! 
They don't carry as much as a knife ! " 

Our two monkeys, Billy and the Tamarin, were 
also getting uneasy, and began to chatter whenever 
the mule stumbled. 

"Let me see that little bobtail," said the Cap- 
tain ; and before I knew what he would be at, he 
had grabbed Billy, and held him out over the 
precipice — merely to scare him, of course. But 
Billy yelled frightfully, and when he was lifted 
back, he rushed into his cage chattering, and wild 
with excitement ; and, looking back at the Cap- 
tain, he hugged the Tamarin, as if he meant to 
warn her against that wicked stranger. 

The traveling friar greeted us very kindly, and 
advised us to keep a sharp lookout for rock- 

avalanches. "That heavy rain has started them 
again," said he; "and the volcanoes cannot be 
trusted, either : Mount Cotopaxi is smoking like a 
factory-chimney. " 

"That man must have traveled a long way," 
said Tommy, when the friar was gone ; " the vol- 
cano of Cotopaxi is down in Ecuador, is n't it? " 

"Up in Ecuador, you mean," laughed the Cap- 
tain. "The peak is quite immeasurably high; 
you can see it from any of these ridges near here. 
Wait until we are on the other side of the canon, 
where the rocks are not so very steep ; I am going 
to lend you my hook-stick, and if you can reach 
the top of those cliffs ahead there, you will proba- 
bly see the peak due south, or south by south- 

Tommy took him at his word, and borrowed the 
hook-stick as soon as we had passed the canon. 

"It is too cloudy," said he, when he came back; 
"but about a mile off I saw a troop of wild deer — 
about fifteen or sixteen head, as nearly as I could 
make out." 

" They must be wild llamas," said the Captain ; 
"deer are very scarce in this sierra. Hold on ! If 
they are llamas, we can steal upon them unawares. 
They are not very sharp-scented." 

We kept on for a mile or so, and then turned 
our mule into a ravine, leading gradually up to the 
top of a little plateau. Tommy had made a good 
guess at the distance. About four hundred yards 
ahead grazed a flock of llamas, evidently, as yet, 
unconscious of any danger. We approached step 
for step, taking advantage of every bush, until, in 
climbing over a broken lava-cliff, Tommy stumbled, 
and the motion sufficed to alarm the outposts of 
the herd. Away these went, followed by the flock, 
and at so swift a pace that all attempts to get a 
shot at them would have been in vain. Some fifty 
yards farther up they stopped, however, and looked 
back at us. 

" Gone ! " said Menito, " unless the Captain has 
a very good horse. Don't I wish we could catch 
one of them alive ! " 

"Catch a llama? You must be crazy," said 
Daddy Simon. "They can go Uphill like the 
wind ; and, moreover, they are white underneath ; 
such llamas bear a charmed life, you know." 

"Well, but may be the boy is right," said the 
Captain ; "there is a young kid in that flock. I 
am going to see if I can not disenchant them some- 
how or other," he laughed, and galloped away 
over the level plateau. Finding he was on their 
tracks, the llamas again took to their heels; but 
two of them failed to keep up with their flying 
companions — the little kid and its mother were 
left behind when the main herd disappeared 
around the edge of the hill. When, however, the 




rider got within rifle-shot range, the dam changed 
her mind, and, gathering herself up, bowled away 
at full speed, and left her child to its fate. It was 
wonderful to see the sagacity of the poor little 
thing. Finding that escape was impossible, it 
made for the next bush, and crouched down, evi- 
dently in the hope that the hunter would pass it 
unobserved. Its hope was disappointed, though, 
for, ten minutes after, Don Matias returned, with 
a pretty fawn-colored llama kid straddling the 
pommel of his saddle. We transferred it to a 
similar perch on Black Betsy's back, and the boys 
agreed that we must keep it for a private pet, if we 
could manage to tame it. 

The friar's warning had not been in vain. As we 
continued on our road, avalanches of rocks and 
stones rumbled down all along the mountain-side, 
and some of them in places where they could do a 
great deal of mischief, for right under the steepest 
part of the overhanging cliffs the Indian village of 
Tacunga extended along the bank of a little 
mountain-stream. Some of the outlying ranches 
seemed, indeed, to have been damaged already, for 
we saw the people running to and fro as if they 
were getting their cows and horses out of the way. 

We had nearly reached the cliffs above the vil- 
lage, when Captain Matias suddenly reined up his 
horse and snatched the halter-strap of our mule. 
" Hold on there ! " he called out. "There 's 3.gar- 
nicha ahead — a blockade ! Confound it, that will 
cost us a roundabout ride of five miles at least ! " 

"What 's the matter?" I asked. "Are the In- 
dians going to stop us?" 

" No, but the avalanche. Look up there," cried 
he — "that whole promontory is ready to come 
down ! " 

A torrent of rolling stones drew our attention to 
the overhanging cliffs half a mile ahead, and, look- 
ing up, we saw that an enormous mass of rock was 
going to detach itself from the mountain-side. The 
split grew larger and larger ; — from the valley below 
we heard the fearful cries of the ranclieros, who had 
already seen the oncoming avalanche ; but we 
could not help them, and in the next moment the 
promontory came down, with a crash that shook 
the mountains like an earthquake. A huge cloud 
of dust rose from the valley ; ten or twelve houses 
had been completely buried, but by rare good luck 
the first shower of rocks had warned the poor 
people in time, and we learned afterward that they 
had saved all their children and the larger part of 
their cattle. 

We had to make a five-mile detour to the left, 
and when we got back to the road, on the other 
side of the promontory, we found a large crowd of 
natives congregated near the scene of the disaster. 
Ten or twelve of them had begun to clear the road, 

but the larger number had gathered around a man 
who was performing a strange ceremony — an in- 
cantation, intended to propitiate the wrath of the 
fire-god to whom the Indians attribute the effects 
of the volcanic forces. In the far south-west a dim 
smoke-cloud curled up from the crest of the Andes : 
toward these mountains the sorcerer had turned 
his face, and high over his head he held a vessel 
with burning herbs, that diffused a peculiar aro- 
matic odor. The Indians were so absorbed in their 
ceremony that they hardly noticed us, and, after 
watching them for ten minutes or so, we passed 
them in silence and continued on our road. 

"That 's a volcano-doctor," chuckled the Cap- 
tain. " He makes them believe that he can bewitch 
the earthquake, and the poor wretches are silly 
enough to pay him for his hocus-pocus. There 
are volcano-doctors in every sierra, and they are 
sent for as soon as there is the least sign of 

" Can they tell an eruption beforehand? " asked 

"Not always," said the Captain, "but there are 
signs that can be generally relied upon — the opening 
of fissures in a mountain-side, for instance, or cold 
springs turning hot. Before the last outbreak of 
Mount Cotopaxi the snow on the peak began sud- 
denly to melt, and the people of this neighborhood 
were once warned by a shower of sand from the 

" Don't they sometimes hear a rumbling under- 
ground ? " 

"Yes, before earthquakes," said Don Matias, 
"but that is no infallible sign: about forty miles 
south from here there is a place they call the Val 
de Bramidos, or 'rumbling valley,' on account of 
the under-ground noises that have often been heard 
there — sometimes like continued discharges of 
heavy artillery. Twelve years ago the uproar lasted 
full three weeks, and at first all the rancheros took 
to their heels ; but by and by they ventured back, 
and they have now found out that, in spite of all 
that racket, the Val de Bramidos is much safer than 
many of the northern villages." 

"Is n't that the highway to Bogota?" asked 
Daddy Simon, when we crossed a broad wagon- 
road, paved with stones and stamped lava. 

"Yes, that's the old military overland road," 
said the Captain, " though I can show you a much 
shorter way across the mountains. I have to inspect 
a sentry-post up there, and you wont repent it, if 
you come along : there is a glorious view from the 
ridge of the Sierra de Santa Maura, which alone 
would repay you ; besides that, we shall have to 
pass a miner's camp, where they are washing gold 
from the mountain-creeks." 

" Oh, yes — please let us go there," said Menito. 



" I want to make my fortune before we get to 
Bogota — I need a new hat." 

We camped that night near the hermitage of an 
old mountaineer, — Gil Hernandez, as the Captain 
called him, — who had made himself a snug home 
by fitting up a natural cave in the basalt-cliffs of 
the Sierra de Santa Maura ; a homely-looking 
burrow from without, although the interior was as 
comfortable as any Spanish farm-house in the high- 
lands. A larger cave farther 
up served him as a stable, 
and in the rock-clefts he 
kept a swarm of tame pigeons 
and martins. He was a most 
kind-hearted old fellow, and, 
seeing me bandage Tommy's 
sore foot, he offered to lend 
us his saddle-mule as far as 
Bogota, and to fetch it back 
himself the same day. 

Next morning, the Cap- 
tain waked us before day- 
break, and took us up to the 
top of the cliffs to see the 
panorama of the Andes, that 
stretched away for thousands 
of miles to the west and 
south-west. The glow of the 
twilight spread from peak 
to peak like a conflagration, 
and, when the sun rose high- 
er, the summits became gold- 
en-red, while the light-blue 
heights of the central sierra 
revealed the shadows of every 
cliff and every ravine. 

"Yes," said the hermit, 
" I would not give my home 
on this ridge for any king's 
palace in the lowlands ; no 
fever, mosquitoes, or dust- 
clouds will bother you up 
here — no thieves nor bad 
neighbors. I have lived in 
these rocks nigh on sixteen 
years, and they 've been the 
happiest years of my life." 

He had built his cot on the very summit of the 
ridge, where his goats could find the short, sweet 
grass they call yerba delgada, in the Andes ; the 
southern slopes of the sierra were full of berries of 
various kinds, and some three miles farther down 
was a valley the natives called "Santa Maria's 
Farm," on account of the abundance of wild pota- 
toes and ground-nuts. 

The hermit agreed to accompany us to the 
mining-camp ; but before we reached it we stopped 

on a little plateau where the Government had built 
a military cabana, looking very much like the one 
where Captain Matias had first met us, three days 
before. The guardsman was Gil Hernandez's next 
neighbor, and he, too, had made himself a little 
farm around his place. We found him in a shed 
behind the cabana, engaged in skinning a couple 
of condors. Below their rough outer plumage these 
birds have a sort of soft down that brings a good 


price in the South American cities, and their enor- 
mous wing-feathers are used for different kinds of 
ornaments. Condors are much shyer than other 
vultures, but the Indians have devised an ingenious 
way of trapping them. They are great gormands, 
and when they have eaten all they can they are un- 
able to fly up without first running along the ground, 
with flopping wings, so as to rise in a slanting direc- 
tion ; and knowing this, the Indians build a picket- 
stockade, about twenty yards in circumference, and 

7 i8 



bait it with the carcass of some animal. On a 
clear day the condors rarely fail to make their ap- 
pearance, and the hunter keeps out of sight until 
they have gorged themselves with meat, when he 
rushes up and attacks the old gluttons with a cud- 
gel. They try to take wing then, but the narrow 
inclosure prevents them, and thus dozens of them 
are often killed in the same trap. 

Four miles farther down we reached the mining- 
camp of Elmonte, in the valley of a creek that once 
might have been a pretty mountain-dell, but was 
now a vale of chaos, covered with mountainous 
heaps of wet gravel, fallen trees, and broken sluices. 
Some twenty Indians and Creoles were at work in 
different pits along the creek, and one of them 
seemed to be acquainted with our hermit and also 
with Captain Matias, for he shook hands with both 
and asked them to "jump in and try their luck." 

"No, thank you," said the Captain, "but here 
are two boys who want to make their fortune ; we 
have brought an extra mule along, in case they 
should find more than they themselves can carry." 

"Come on," said the miner. "Here are picks 
and two trowel-spades ; just help yourselves." 

" Begin where you please," said the digger. 
"There 's no saying where you may strike it." 

Menito was an old hand at this business and 
went to work in regular Rocky Mountain miner 
style, but Tommy shoveled around at random, and 
examined every bit of gravel before he threw it 

"Yes, it 's all luck," said the miner. "I have 
known men to work a month in the same pit till 
they gave it up in despair, and another fellow 
jumped in and got out a handful of nuggets in 
twenty minutes." 

"Please, is this gold?" said Tommy, not long 
afterward — " these little yellow grains, I mean," 
showing us a sample of his last shovelful. 

"Now, did n't I tell you?" said the miner. 
" Yes, that 's gold — gold-dust, as we call it. About 
seventy-five cents you made in ten minutes. Where 
did you find that ? " 

" Somewhere along the creek," said Tommy. 
" I do not remember the exact place." 

"You don't? You will never find it again, 
then," said the miner. "You ought to have called 
me as soon as you found the first bit ; may be we 
might have struck a vein." 

" He is a new hand at this trade," explained the 

"Oho, that accounts for his luck," said the 
miner. "Is n't it strange now ? I never knew a 
person to try this business the first time in his life 
without striking a 'bonanza,' by sheer blind fort- 
une ; after you have been at it for a week or so, 
it 's all work and no luck." 

About a mile below the diggings, we came to 
the western slope of the sierra, and our road now 
went steadily down-hill through a most intricate 
maze of gullies and basalt-cliffs, till we reached the 
Spanish settlements in the plain of Bogota. 

(To be continued.) 





By S. K. Bourne. 

Oh, who has seen my doggy dear — he of the 

stubby tail — 
He of the soft and liquid eyes, and melancholy 

No more I hear his gentle step, nor see his 

happy face, 
When licking of his dinner-plate, or running on 

a race ! 

He was as ugly as they grow upon the Isle of 

Skye — 
And that 's what makes his loss so great, and 

made his price so high ! 
So tell me now, "ye winged winds that round 

my pathway roar," 
Will my dear doggy ne'er come Dack? Shall I 

ne'er see him more ? 

He was a brown and curly thing, who ran 

about the house, 
And up and down the stairs he 'd go, as still 

as any mouse ; 
I have never seen a dog so small, so horrible to 

see ! 
And will that darling, precious thing come never 

back to me ? 

Oh, no ! he 's gone ! My heart will break ! 

That terrier from Skye 
Has left me for some other home ! The tears 

fall from my eye. 
Alas ! If I should search the world, I know it 

could not be 
That I should find another dog as ugly as was he. 

And so I mourn my doggy lost. Good people 

join my wail : 
He was the dearest little dog that ever wagged 

a tail. 
He was so ugly ! Precious dear ! So blest I 

can not be 
As ever to possess a dog as ugly as was he ! 

("U-r-r-t-r-r-r-r, Ow, Ow, Ow .'") 

But stay ! What 's that mellifluous sound that 

breaks upon my ear? 
It is ! Oh, can it then be true ! It is his voice 

I hear ! 
And now, dull Time, bring all thy woes — I 

care not what they be — 
Since my delightful ugly pet has been restored 

to me. 





By Mrs. John P. Morgan. 

I WISH that all the children in the world might 
get together some beautiful June day, and then 
there certainly could be nothing more charm- 
ing for them than that they should all be still 
for a while, and listen to the wonderful violin- 
playing of Eugenio Mauricio Dengremont, the 

Let me tell you what I know of him : He was 
born March the 19th, 1866, at Rio Janeiro, Brazil. 
His father, having other boys, as well as girls, and 
being a musician in moderate circumstances, had 
no idea of making musicians of his children, and 
did not dream that the son born to him this day 
was so gifted. But, at the age of four, Mauricio 
asked his papa to teach him to play the violin. 
This his father did not feel inclined to do. He 
was himself a violin-player in the theater orchestra, 
and felt the life of an ordinary musician an uncer- 
tain one and not desirable for his son ; but the 
child never gave up the idea of being a violinist, 
and would leave his play at any time to stand near 
his father and eagerly watch his practice. 

At last, in 1872, when the boy was six years 
old, his father removed to Montevideo, where he 
played again in the theater orchestra, whither the 
boy usually accompanied him. Here Mauricio 
begged so earnestly to study the violin that his 
father, taking him at his word, decided to gratify 
him, and said: 

" Well, my boy, if you begin to study the violin, 
you will have to carry the business through." 

"I shall do so, Papa," said the boy; and his 
lessons began. 

He was so small ! and so much in earnest ! and 
his father spent hours bending over the tiny figure, 
and guiding the boy's little arm in the bowing. 
And now take notice, all boys and girls who 
"would so much love to play well, but can't bear 
to practice." Great as this child's natural gifts 
are, he, at first, practiced three and four hours 
faithfully every day. To be gifted, no doubt, 
makes the work easier, but a certain amount of 
real drudgery must be done by one who succeeds 
in any art, no matter how gifted he may be. 

After four months' study, Mauricio could play 
the scales — and in thirds, also, (quite difficult on 
the violin) — as well and as rapidly as his father ; and, 
"besides, he played so remarkably that his father 
discovered him to be really a genius, as his name 
indicated, and so he faithfully and strictly attended 
to the boy's teaching. 

After fourteen months' study, the father decided 
to allow the boy to give his first concert, but fear- 
ing lest his son might not have the self-control 
necessary for a successful public performance, he 
took him to a little town — Paysander — up the river, 
to make trial. 

The concert at Paysander entirely satisfied the 
father of the boy's nerve and self-command, and, 
returning to Montevideo, he gave his first concert 
there to benefit the unfortunate victims of a railroad 
accident. Here his playing created a great excite- 
ment, and after that, every appearance of his in 
public concerts was an ovation. 

Since this modest beginning in the South Ameri- 
can town, the boy has been petted and flattered by 
all Europe, although he is singularly unspoiled, 
both son and father being of a generous nature. 
But I like to think of him, in his childish grace 
and beauty, beginning his musical career with this 
kindly deed. He seems to me capable of doing 
such a thing nobly. 

After the concert in Montevideo, and a grand 
concert in Rio Janeiro, he left his brothers and 
sisters, and his mother, — whose personal beauty he 
inherits, — and went with his father to try his fort- 
une in the Old World. 

He went first to Lisbon ; thence to Madrid, 
where he played before the King, and received no 
end of honors and decorations ; and from there 
to Paris, where he gave ten concerts. 

Think of it : scarcely ten years old ! 

From this time — 1876 — he had private lessons 
from Leonard, in Paris. These lessons hardly 
would have occupied more Jhan a year, if given 
without a break, but they extended over a longer 
period, during which he traveled over all Europe, 
excepting Russia and Italy. Everywhere he met 
with great success. 

Such is a meager history of this wonderful'boy's 
child-life — enough, however, to give us hope of a 
glorious manhood for him, for Mauricio is not an 
unnaturally precocious child, — a forced hot-house 
blossom, — but a healthy, fun-loving, boyish boy, 
with buoyant animal spirit, and as ready for 
wholesome fun as for earnest study ; and withal, 
certainly much more of a child than the average 
American boy of his age. 

But, then, when his face is quiet, the violin 
under his chin, and his bow in motion, he is again 
something strangely above us, — a true musical 

[From a photograph by Anderson.] 

Vol. VIII.— 46. 





By F. Blake Crofton. 


"Why do I keep up that horrid habit of taking 

Perhaps, my dear boy, you would n't think it 
quite such a "horrid habit" if it had saved your 
life, as it d'ddmine. 

" Saved your life, Major? " 

That 's just what it did. What 's the good of 
repeating what I said, in such a tone as that — just 
as if anybody had doubted it ? 

"Only wanted to hear the story," did you? 
Well, that 's natural enough, boys, and I suppose 
I 'm caught now, and in for telling it : 

A party of three — myself and two negroes — had 
been collecting young animals. We had just capt- 
ured a fine young rhinoceros and a very promising 
little crocodile, and had tied the captives in our 
wagon. We were taking a hasty meal before 
starting for home, when we perceived the parent 
animals advancing from different quarters to the 
rescue of their offspring. 

In an instant our guns were cocked. Two aimed 
at the galloping rhinoceros, one at the waddling 
crocodile. We pulled together. One negro's 
bullet hit the reptile on the back ; but he was a 
hard-shelled crocodile, and was n't a bit hurt. My 
gun and the other negro's missed fire. When we 
were struggling with the baby crocodile, the locks 
of our guns had got under water, and we had care- 
lessly forgotten to unload and clean the weapons. 

The oxen had not been yoked, and the wagon 
stood near a tamarind-tree, which we hastened to 
climb. The negroes got up it like monkeys, but I 
was indebted to the rhinoceros for the favor of a 
hoist. It arrived before I could pull myself up on 
the second branch, and it just managed to touch 
my foot with its horn, giving me a very useful and 
unexpected lift. The tamarind shook with the 
shock of the beast's charge. 

Soon the crocodile arrived, too, and the blockade 
of the tree was complete. At first we had hoped 
the animals might contrive to release their young 
ones and retreat ; but the cords had been too well 
tied, and the awkward parents could do nothing 
for their young without injuring the little creatures; 
so they waited on and on for their revenge. They 
were quite friendly to each other, and seemed to 
have formed a sort of alliance. 

Half a hot day went by, and it became plain 
that the animals would outlast us, unless some- 

thing turned up. They had two advantages over 
us, — in not being obliged to cling to branches, and 
in having water at hand, to which they went, one 
at a time, to refresh themselves. Before climbing, 
we had been forced to drop our fire-arms, wet and 

At last I got out my snuff-box, and took a pinch 
to aid my deliberations. I wondered whether the 
crocodile would think it "a horrid habit"; at all 
events, I thought it could do no harm to try. One 
of my negroes always carried whip-cord, to mend 
the whips and harness of the wagon. I borrowed 
this cord, and let down some snuff, in a piece of 
paper, within a few inches of the crocodile's snout , 
then I shook the string and scattered the snuff. 

Shortly afterward, the crocodile made a sound 
so very human that I was almost going to call it a 

" Ackachu ! " observed the reptile. 

"Ackachu! Ackachu! Ackachu!" it repeated 
at intervals, opening its jaws wide every time. 

The rhinoceros was surprised and grieved at this 
behavior on the part of its ally. It seemed unde- 
cided whether to take it as a personal insult or as 
a sign of insanity. This furnished me with an 
idea. I would sow the seeds of discord between 
the friendly monsters, and turn their brute strength 
against each other. 

I could not get at the rhinoceros myself, but one 
of the negroes was just above it ; so I passed him 
the box and the string, and directed him to give 
the beast a few pinches of snuff, as I had done to 
the crocodile. 

The latter had just ceased sneezing, when, to 
its vexation and disgust, it heard the rhinoceros 
apparently beginning to mimic it. 

"Ackachu ! " remarked the rhinoceros ; "Acka- 
chu ! Ackachu ! " opening his mouth in the very 
way the crocodile had done. 

It was too much for a crocodile to stand. To be 
mocked thus, and in the presence of its child ! 
The blood of the Leviathans was up ! 

At this moment, we scattered the last of the 
snuff in the faces of both animals, impartially. 

"Ackachu!" they roared, grimacing at each 
other hideously and threateningly for a few mo- 
ments. Then they rushed to battle, uttering the 
same war-cry . " Ackachu ! " 

The rhinoceros had the best in the first round. 
He got his horn under the crocodile's lower jaw, 
and tossed it over on its back. The reptile now 



seemed helpless, yet, with a sweep of its resistless 
tail, it knocked its enemy's fore legs from beneath 
him, and prevented his following up his advantage 
promptly. Soon, however, the rhinoceros got 
around the prostrate saurian, and was about to 
stamp upon the unarmored side of its body, when 

must be numbered among the lost arts of snakes. 
There is a kind, though, that can as good as fly, 
and this may have deceived some respectable old 

It was owing to my unlucky balloon that I got 
the chance of seeing this shy and retiring reptile. 



a convulsive sneeze came to the reptile's aid, and 
gave an electric energy to its muscles. With a 
triumphant " Ackachu ! " it regained its feet, and 
clutched a leg of the rhinoceros in its huge jaws. 
This was turning the scales with a vengeance on 
the enemy, who now tried to crush the saurian's 
shell by means of his superior weight. 

Such was the blindness of their fury that I now 
felt it was quite safe to descend and yoke the oxen. 
We drove off with their young ones before the 
very eyes of the monsters, who were too busy to 
note our departure. For the moment, their pa- 
rental affection had been fairly snuffed out. 


" So you believe there were no such things as 
flying serpents in ancient times, Major?" 

If the ancients were right, my boy, then flying 

I was sailing over a grove, watching the antics of a 
parrot perched on the very top of a tall palm, 
when suddenly something like a bent arrow, or 
rocket, shot out of a lower tree, struck the bird, 
and sank down with it through the leaves of the 

Unlike an arrow in one respect, the strange 
missile coiled and curved in its passage through 
the air. Perhaps I should have likened it to a 
sling, dragged from the hand of an unskillful 
slinger by the force of the slung stone, and follow- 
ing the latter in its flight. 

Anxious to read the riddle, I descended and 
anchored my balloon. Here, perhaps, I thought, 
was Some new weapon, marvelous as the Australian 
boomerang, to grace my collection of savage arms. 
However, I saw no lurking savage, and no strange 
new missile, from the top of the tree on which I 
alighted ; but I saw a family party of snakes on 




the ground beneath. Two young ones were evi- 
dently being drilled by their parents in the mode 
of warfare peculiar to their race. 

Placing the dead parrot aside, as the prize of 
valor or skill, the parent snakes formed a ring with 
their bodies. On entering this arena, each young 
one — by a strange contortion — formed a knot upon 
its gristly tail, and attacked the other with this 
artificial weapon. They would advance to the 
attack spinning like wheels, and, once within 
striking distance, down would come their knots 
with a surprisingly quick jerk. They could con- 


vert a circle into a straight line and a straight line 
into a circle, more rapidly than any professor of 
geometry I ever met ; yet, though they hit each 
other several times, they seemed to do little 
damage, for these youngsters, of course, could not 
be expected to tie such hard and tight knots as 
their elders. A combat between two hardened 
old catapults — as I named these reptiles — would be 
a very serious matter, I should judge. 

* [Strange to say, the remarkable Major has a foundation for his statement here. The records of some naturalists support him. 
true, the viper certainly may claim disinterested parental devotion as an offset against its wicked ways. — Editor.] 

This spirited tournament came to a sudden 
close. As I was straining forward to get a better 
view, a branch cracked beneath my foot, and the 
sound caught the heedful ear of the mother snake. 
In a second the wary reptile called " time " and 
issued a warning hiss ; at which her well-trained 
offspring hastily retreated, jumping down her 
throat for protection. 

The catapult is a great inventor — an Edison 
among snakes ; yet it cannot justly claim a patent 
for this mode of sheltering its young in time of 
danger. Vipers and rattlesnakes are said to have 
practiced the same trick for a great many years.* 

The color of the catapult is green ; but it is not 
half as green as it looks. This I found out to my 
cost ; for, although the mother had vanished beneath 
the long grass, the male began to make mysterious 
preparations for war. 

He began operations by knotting his tail with 
an audible crack. He twisted its knotted end firmly 
around a projecting root of the tree on which I was 
perched. Then he reared his head toward a 
branch which lay directly between his tail and me. 
This branch, though seemingly too high, he 
reached with ease by simply shooting out an extra 
joint — for the catapult is the only serpent that is built 
upon the telescopic plan. Having grasped the 
branch in his jaws, he began shortening himself 
with wonderful contractile power, until his body, 
stretched between the root and the branch, looked 
like the string of a bent bow, or of a catapult at 
full cock. 

I now thought it high time to set about unmoor- 
ing my balloon, as I did not exactly know what to 
expect next. But, before I had untied the first 
rope, the snake unwound his tail from the root of 
the tree, let go his hold of the branch, shot him- 
self into the air, and struck me sharply, with his 
knot, on the left shoulder. 

The shock of the contact with my shoulder 
changed the snake's course in the air. He fell to 
the ground some little distance away. He was 
quite unhurt, and hastened to prepare for a second 
assault. However, I happened to be in as great a 
hurry as he was, and just when he had taken posi- 
tion for another flight, I let go my anchor-rope, 
and up went the balloon. 

I had discovered what missile it was that killed 
the parrot, but I paid dearly for the knowledge. 
My shoulder ached for weeks afterward. 

If iti 






By Hannah R. Hudson. 

" Little fairy people ! 
Little fairy people ! 
'T is your own midsummer day, 
Hear the clock strike far away, 
In the high church-steeple. 
Come, you fairy people ! " 

So a little maiden sang 

In the morning early ; 

Tying on her home-spun gown, 

Tying up her tresses brown, — 

Tresses long and curly, 

In the bright morn early. 

Nut-brown robin overhead 
Listened to her singing ; 
Circled high above his nest, 
Caught the sunlight on his breast, 
Trills of laughter ringing 
As he heard her singing. 

Bees that swung in garden flowers, 
Dressed in browns and yellows, 
Heard her, though she did not knov 
Buzzed their laughter to and fro. 
Ah, what merry fellows, 
Dressed in browns and yellows ! 

All around, without, within, 
Sunbeams laughed and glistened; 
And the brook beside the road 
Rippled laughter as it flowed, 
Dimpled as it listened 
Where the sunbeams glistened. 

" Fairies ? " sang the brook and bees, 

Sang the robin higher, 
"If she wants them she must look 

'Twixt the covers of a book; 

They were never nigher ! " 

Sunbeams laughed close by her. 

Still the little maiden sang, 
Sweet the notes outringing. 
To her childish faith supreme 
Real was every tale and dream. 
As the lark's upspringing, 
Fresh and clear her singing : 

" Little fairy people ! 

Little fairy people ! " 
Rang the accents sweet and gay, 
" Now the clock begins the day 

In the high church-steeple ! 

Come, O fairy people ! " 




By Henry W. Troy. 


Fig. 2 

Here, boys, is a simple way to make a "scap- 
net " or crab-net, without using a mesh-needle. 

If there are no stores which keep such things, 
any blacksmith can make the ring ; and a pole is 
easily provided. The ring must have a spike to 
drive into the end of the pole, around which should 
be a ferrule to prevent splitting. 

Having all ready, fasten the pole at some con- 
venient height, so that the ring will be out toward 
you, and on a level with your eyes. Take a ball 
of twine and cut it in pieces three or four times as 
long as you wish your net to be deep. Double 
these and loop them, about one inch and a half 
apart, around the ring, as in Fig. 1. Of course 
they will be much longer than here represented. 

Then, beginning anywhere, take two strings, one 
from each adjoining pair, and make one knot of 
them, as in Fig. 2. And so go once around the 
whole ring, before beginning the next row. Very 
little care and judgment will keep them even and 
regular. After five or six rows, you can begin 



making the meshes smaller by knotting closer. 
Continue making them smaller until the knots 
become too crowded, when the opening at the 
bottom will be small enough to be tied across by 
the exercise of some home-made ingenuity. This 
will give a handsome-looking net, such as Fig. 3, 
which has the advantage of being strongest where 
the most wear-and-tear comes, and where other 
nets are weak. 

But if you prefer to make the net lighter, and 
to narrow it like the regularly made nets, a method 
is suggested in Figs. 4 and 5. 

When you have made the requisite number of 
even rows, as before, begin narrowing by clipping 
off one string of a pair (see B, Fig. 5) at four places 
equidistant on the same row. Then proceed to 
knot as before, excepting at these places, where you 



must take a string from the pair on each side of the 
single one, and knot them, allowing the single 
string to pass through the knot (c) before closing 
it. Be careful to make the tie long enough for 
the knot to come even with the others in the same 
row. Then pull down the single string, and tie a 
simple knot (d) in it, close up to the doable knot. 
Then cut the string off close. Proceed in the same 

manner with the next row, avoiding as much as pos- 
sible having the dropped meshes come under one 
another. As you get down, you will have to increase 
the number of them in each succeeding row, in 
order to bring the net together at the bottom. 

In this mode of finishing, the meshes toward the 
bottom need be made only a little smaller than 
those above. 


In order that all our readers may understand the 
frontispiece this month, we copy below, from The 
American Historical Record, some paragraphs 
relating the history of that famous song, " The 
Star-Spangled Banner." 

It was written during the war with Great Britain, 
which is generally spoken of in history as the 
war of 1812. The British forces had captured the 
city of Washington and destroyed its public build- 
ings, and were preparing to attack Baltimore. 
Francis Scott Key, a patriotic American, and, at 
the time, a citizen of Washington, wrote to his 
mother, on the 2d of September, 18 14 : 

"* * * I am going in the morning to Baltimore, to proceed 
in a flag-vessel to General Ross. Old Dr. Beanes, of Marlboro, is 
taken prisoner by the enemy, who threaten to carry him off. Some 
of his friends have urged me to apply for a flag and go to try to pro- 
cure his release. I hope to return in about eight or ten days, tho' it 
is uncertain, as I do not know where to find the fleet. * * * 
God bless you, my dear mother. F. S. Key." 

" The President, James Madison, granted Mr. 
Key permission to go, and he went with a friend 
in a cartel-ship,* under a flag of truce. They 
found the British fleet at the mouth of the Potomac, 
preparing to attack Baltimore. 

" The British admiral agreed to release Dr. 
Beanes, but refused to let him or his friends return 
that night. They were placed on board of 
another vessel, where they were carefully guarded, 
to prevent them from communicating with their 
countrymen concerning the proposed attack. The 
vessel was anchored within sight of Fort McHenry, 
which the British fleet proceeded to bombard. 

" The three Americans were compelled to endure 
all night long the anxiety of mind produced by 
the cannonade ; and they had no means of knowing 
the result of the attack, until ' the dawn's early 
light.' They awaited that dawn with the most 
intense feeling. When it came, they saw with joy 
that ' the old flag was still there.' 

" It was during this bombardment that Key, 

pacing the deck of the vessel, composed that 
immortal song, ' The Star-Spangled Banner.' The 
rude, first draught of it was written on the back of 
a letter, and he wrote it out at full length on his 
arrival in Baltimore." Soon after, it was printed, 
and at once became exceedingly popular. " It 
was sung everywhere, in public and private, and 
created intense enthusiasm." 

Although the famous song is no doubt well 
known to most of our readers, we here reprint it in 
full, as it was originally written by Mr. Key : 

The Star-Spangled Banner. 

O SAY can you see, by the dawn's early light, 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming; 
Whose broad stripes and bright stars thro' the perilous fight 
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming 
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, 
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there; 
O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ? 

From the shore dimly seen thro' the mists of the deep, 
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, 

What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep, 
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses ? 

Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, 

In full glory reflected now shines in the stream ; 

'Tis the star-spangled banner! — O long may it wave 

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore 

That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion 
A home and a country should leave us no more ? 

Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. 
No refuge could save the hireling and slave 
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave ; 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

And thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 

Between their loved homes and the war's desolation ; 
Blest with vict'ry and peace may this Heaven-rescued land 

Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation. 
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, 
And this be our motto: " In God is our Trust" ; 
And the star-spangled banner, O long may it wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

* Cartel, or cartel-ship : A ship used in making the exchange of prisoners of war, or in carrying propositions to an enemy ; it is a 
ship of truce, and must not be fired upon nor captured. 



By B. E. 

Lit-tle Vic-tor was ver-y fond of dogs and cats, and all sorts of pets. 
But there was one thing he liked bet-ter than any pet, and that was to have 
his own way. There was a large cat in the house, which Vic-tor called 
his cat. Her name was Silk-y, and she was ver-y good for catch-ing mice. 

One day, Vic-tor found four lit-tle kit-tens in her box ; and his moth-er 
told him these were Silk-y's kit-tens. "Then they are mine," said Vic- 
tor, " for Silk-y is my cat, and her kit-tens are my cats." 

" But I can not have so man-y cats a-bout the house," said his moth-er, 
"and I must give these young ones a-way as soon as they are large 

Then Vic-tor be-gan to cry, and he begged his moth-er so hard to let 
him keep the kit-tens that, at last, she said he might do so if he would feed 
them and take care of them. Vic-tor said he would al-ways do this, so his 
moth-er let him keep the kit-tens. 

At first they ate noth-ing but milk, but when they grew big-ger 
they ate meat and bread, and man-y oth-er things. Vic-tor oft-en for-got to 
feed them, and then they would get ver-y hun-gry, and go a-bout the house 
mew-ing and whin-ing for some-thing to eat. The rest of the fam-i-ly did 
not like this, and his moth-er told Vic- tor that if he did not feed his cats she 
would give them a-way. Then Vic-tor prom-ised to do bet-ter, and for a few 
days he fed his cats. But he soon for-got a-gain to do this, and the cats 
be-came as hun-gry as be-fore. 

One warm day, he took his bas-ket with him to the gar-den to 
gath-er some flow-ers for his moth-er. The cook had giv-en him a big 
slice of bread and but-ter, and he thought it would be a nice thing to eat this 
as he walked a-bout the sha-dy gar-den. But his five cats fol-lowed him, 
and mewed and whined, and begged so hard for some of the bread and 
but-ter, that he was o-bliged ev-er-y now and then to give them some. 

Vic-tor did not like his cats to be-have in this way, and he said to his 
moth-er: "Sup-pose this whole world were full of cats, and on-ly one 
lit-tle boy to feed them. Would not that be bad?" 

"Yes," said his moth-er, " it would be ver-y bad." 

" It is not just like that," said Vic-tor, "but that is the way I feel." 

"I think," said his moth-er, "that it would be well for you to let 
me give a-way some of the young cats." 

" No," said Victor, "I want them all. They are my cats, and I will 



try to teach them not to fol-low me a-bout and mew when I am eat-ing 
a piece of bread and but-ter." 

" It would be bet-ter," said his moth-er, " for you to try to teach 
your-self to feed them at the prop-er time." 

" I will try to do that," said Vic-tor. And for a few days he fed his 
cats at the prop-er time, and they did not trou-ble him at all. But he soon 

for-got a-gain to do this, 
and the cats whined and 
mewed worse than they 
ev-er did be-fore. Then 
Vic-tor went to his moth- 
er and said : " Don't you 
think that one cat is e- 
nough for a lit-tle boy ? " 
" Yes, in-deed, I do," 
said his moth-er. 

"And I think," said 
Vic-tor, "that a lit-tle boy 
ought to have a large cat, 
named Silk-y, who knows 
where to go to get her 
own food, and who nev-er 
went mew-ing af-ter him 
un-til he had five cats, who 
are so much trou-ble to 
feed that he could not al- 
ways re-mem-ber to give 
them some-thing to eat." 
" Yes," said his moth- 
er, "I think the lit-tle boy 
had bet-ter keep Silk-y, 
and let his moth-er give 
a-way the young cats. 
And I think, too, that af- 
ter this the lit-tle boy would do bet-ter if he should al-low his moth-er 
to de-cide for him what is right for him to do." 

"I like to find out for my-self what is right," said Vic-tor, "but some- 
times it is a great deal of trou-ble." 

"You will al-ways find that to be true," said his moth-er. 
And then she gave away the four young cats. 





I 'm a plain Jack-in-thc-Pulpit, young school- 
folk and play-fellows, as you all know, and given 
to speaking my mind, and what I wish to say now 
is this : 

I do not want to be turned, this July, into a 
Jumping-Jack, as I generally am whenever the 
Glorious Fourth, as you call it, comes around. I 
want peace and quiet, and a chance to reflect upon 
this great country. But with cannon, pop-guns, 
and fire-crackers blazing, snapping, and banging 
about me, how can I do it ? 

It is n't rational, this noisy way of celebrating 

things ; it 's positively dangerous, and besides 

* * * * * * * * 

Hey? Oh, that 's it, is it? It would n't be the 
Fourth of July without it, eh? Oh, well — if that 's 
the case, Jack begs pardon, and — by the way, if 
you have n't any punk you '11 find any number 
of cat-tails growing down in my meadow, and you 'd 
better get some and dry them so as to be ready. 


A LONG time ago, in the Indian country, two 
little girls slipped away from the Fort, and went 
down into a hollow, to pick berries. It was Emmy, 
a girl of seven years, with Bessie, her sister, not 
yet six. 

All at once, the sun flashed on something bright, 
and Emmy knew that the pretty painted things she 
had seen crawling among the bushes must be 
hostile Indians, with gleaming weapons in their 
hands. She did not cry out, nor in any way let 
them know that she had seen them. But she 
looked all about, saw that some of the creeping 
Indians already were between her and the Fort, 
and — went on picking berries, as before. 

Soon, she called aloud to Bessie, with a steady 
voice: " Don't you think it 's going to rain?" So 

the)' both turned and walked toward the Fort. 
They reached the tall grass, and, suddenly, Emmy 
dropped to the ground, pulling down Bessie, too. 

"What are you looking for?" asked the little 
sister, in surprise. 

Then Emmy whispered to Bessie, and both of 
them stole silently and quickly on hands and knees 
through the long grass, until they came to the road, 
when they started up, ran swiftly to the Fort, dashed 
through the entrance, and had the gate safely 
closed behind them ! 

Those girls are quite old now, but they remem- 
ber very well the day they saved themselves, the 
Fort which their father commanded, and the sol- 
diers and other people in it, besides. 


K. L. HAS answered her own question, "How 
many toes has a cat?" which your Jack passed over 
to you in February. She says: "Cats generally 
have four toes on each hind foot and five on each 
fore foot, eighteen in all." The Little School- 
ma'am thinks that this answer is right, for, of 
course, deformed cats are not to be included. 

Belle Baldwin quotes an old punning rhyme : 

" Can you tell me why 
A hypocrite's eye 
Can best descry 
On how many toes 
A pussy-cat goes ? 

' A man of deceit 
Can best count-er-feit [count- 

And so, 1 suppose, 
He can best count her toes." 

Answers came also from Edward F. Biddle — 
" Sarpedon "— B. C— M. E. G.— S. E. Coyk— 
V. Meredith — Ella M. Parker — and Nelly Loomjs. 


Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : Please let me have room to say a 
word about some bird acquaintances of mine and their queer ways. 

We have a hen who is a great gossip. She made a nest in the 
yard close to our kitchen, laid eggs in it, and sat on them. But, at 
every noise in the room, she would leave the nest and run to the 
kitchen-door, to find out what was the matter. I am sorry to say 
that all her chicks were born deformed in some way, and we have an 
idea that this was the lesson sent to her by Dame Nature to teach 
her to be less careless and inquisitive in future. 

We have a hen of better character, though, — one who is noted for 
taking the most tender and tireless care of her own children, and also 
for helping chicks in distress. One day, she saw a chick drowning 
in a water-bucket, so she jumped upon the edge of the bucket, 
reached over, laid hold of the chick with her beak, pulled him out, 
shook him to get the water off, and then set the scared little creature 
on the ground. 

And we had, too, some Shanghai hens, who cherished high 
notions of hen-dignity. They sat on the nest four deep, one on top 
of another: and, when the maid pulled them off, they ran to the 
rooster, and all three told him at once of her harsh treatment of them. 
The rooster immediately flew at the maid, and stormed at her so 
fiercely that she ran away. It was very funny to look at, but the 
maid did not like it at all. — Yours truly, F. M. Lee. 


YOUR Jack is informed by his friend E. C. G., 
that queer, round, flat, little "stones," with holes 
in the middle — similar to the "button-molds" 
mentioned by Shirley Martin in his May letter to 
me — are found in northern England. There, the 
children who play with them call them " St. Cuth- 
bert's Beads " ; E. C. G. could not discover why. 
She learned, however, that these beads really are 
fossilized joints of ancient ' ' animals," now known as 
encrinites, which once had the appearance of 
flowers growing on long, jointed stems from the 



surfaces of rocks. Sometimes, the body parts also 
are picked up, and these the children call "lily 
stones," from their resemblance to lily blossoms. 

At one time, these curious "animals" covered the 
bottom of the sea as thickly as a wheat-field is 
covered with growing stalks ; and vast beds of 
marble have been found which learned men say 
are made of the skeletons of encrinites. 

If the Little School-ma'am were here just now, I 'd 
ask her whether these encrinites were not plants as 
well as animals — a sort of connecting link. I 've 
been told that they were. Who knows about this ? 


Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: I know of something so strange that 
I must tell it to you: 

A naval officer, at a banquet given to some Chinese mandarins on 
board his ship, showed to them with great pride a handsome drink- 
ing-glass of European make, studded with golden stars. The 
mandarins admired it very much, but said that their countrymen 
could do work far more extraordinary than that. And they offered 
to wager that, if the glass were broken, a Chinese workman should 
repair it, preserving its beauty, and also its use as a drinking-vessel. 
The wager was taken up, the glass was crushed beneath a boot-heel 
into hundreds of pieces of all shapes and sizes, and the fragments 
were given to a Chinaman to be put together. 

When I saw the repaired glass, it not only showed every one of its 
golden stars, but it seemed to be delicately veined all over, and 
sprinkled with shining dew-drops. On looking closely, the veins were 
found to be the joinings of the pieces, and the drops of light proved 
to be the sparkling ends of metal rivets. Each rivet was fastened 
within the thickness of the glass, — not one of them passed entirely 
through ; and the goblet held water when only part-filled ; but in the 
middle of the side was a hole of about the size of a pin's point, where 
one tiny fragment of glass was wanting. 

And so the mandanns gained the wager, and proved the astonish- 
ing skill of at least one of their patient countrymen. — Yours truly, 

L. H. 



NOT far from your Jack's pulpit is an old barn 
where there was a deal of twittering and chatter- 
ing among the swallows, very early a few mornings 
ago. And above the din rose shrill cries as if some 
unlucky swallow were in trouble. I learned after- 
ward that he had been guilty of the unbirdly act 
of sleeping too long, that morning. The others 
darted to and fro, each with something in his bill, 
and, pretty soon, hanging by the tips of his long 
wings, near one of the nests, I saw the lazy swallow 
plastered to the barn-wall with some stick)' stuff 
brought by his companions. Fast and faster they 
worked, while the hanging bird kept crying. 

Deacon Green came out of his cottage, to see what 
was wrong ; and he soon set the little fellow free. 

But — would you believe it? — after flying about 
for a short time, the little "lie-abed" actually went 
back to his nest to enjoy another nap ! This was 
too much, and his neighbors pounced upon him in 
a twinkling and began to renew their punishment. 
I was wondering how the affair would end, when 
out came the Deacon again, this time with a pitcher 
in his hand. He set a ladder against the barn, 
climbed up, released the sleepy-head, and then 
poured water over him and his nest. 

This settled the matter. The way in which that 
swallow immediately flew crooked "W"s and 
" and-so-forths " in the air was something wonder- 
ful. He certainly was not ill; he was too lively 
for that ; but he seemed to have lost the thread 
of the day, somehow, and to be trying to find it. 


Men and monkeys make suspension-bridges ; 
men build them with strong wire ropes, and mon- 
keys make theirs by clinging to one another's tails. 
But there are other creatures that make suspension- 
bridges — the Driver Ants of Africa — fellows half an 
inch long, with big heads that must have clever 
brains in them. 

They work on a plan similar to that of the mon- 
keys. A large ant takes hold of the branch of a 
tree with his fore legs, and lets his body hang ; 
then another ant climbs down the first one, to 
whose hind legs he clings, letting his own body 
hang; and so the little fellows keep on until a long 
chain of them hangs from the tree. Then they 
swing until the ant at the loose end catches hold 
of the tree they wish to reach ; and the bridge is 

As soon as the main body of the army has crossed 
the bridge, the ant on the first tree lets go of the 
branch, and climbs up his comrades to the second 
tree ; the other makers of the living suspension- 
bridge follow his example, and they take their 
place at the rear of the marching column. 


Dear Mr. Jack-in-the-Pulpit: I send you a picture of a little 
chicken who was deserted by his mother, and left to face the rough, 
selfish world, all by himself. But he was not down-hearted : not 
he ! All day long he would cheerfully scratch for a living, ami 
when night came, it was his custom to march contentedly into a 

A queer foster-mother. 

certain room in the house, and cuddle under a feather-duster that 
stood in the corner. There he would sleep, all snug and warm, 
among the feathers of his queer foster-mother. This seemed to me 
so funny and pathetic, that I thought you would like to know about 
it. — Yours truly, Emma K. Parrish. 





A Wokd of Explanation. 

As many of our readers, doubtless, will observe certain changes 
on the cover of the present number of this magazine, it is right to 
give them a few words of explanation. They will notice that 
St. Nicholas now is published by The Century Co., of New York, 
instead of by Scribner & Co., as of old; and in this they may 
feel a sense of loss, as though the familiar pages had in some way 
grown strange. But it is not so. There is a change and yet no 
change. In every respect, St. Nicholas is to remain as it has 
been — a gay, stanch little ship, manned by the same crew, and with 
the same strong hand at the helm that has steered it heretofore as 
a business enterprise. The only difference is that the captain and 
crew have resolved to own the vessel they run, and so, with the 
consent of all concerned, have purchased the shares of former part- 
owners. In other words, this magazine, as a property, now mainly 
belongs to Mr. Roswell Smith, who first conceived the idea of St. 
Nicholas, and to whose wise and liberal business management its 
success is largely due. As President of the Century Co., and its 
active manager, he intends that this periodical shall continue to be, 
in every respect, the same St. Nicholas that has won favor here- 
tofore, holding on, of course, to its first principle, which is to grow 
and improve in every way it can. 

The editor, in telling you this, dear readers, can not but recall the 
day when, all aglow with generous enthusiasm, — an enthusiasm 
which has never abated, — Mr. Roswell Smith and his colleagues put 
all their wishes and restrictions into one general request: "Conduct 
the new magazine entirely in the interest of girls and boys, and let 
it be as nearly perfect as money and painstaking can make it." 

There were no "ifs" and "buts," no troublesome economies. 
The times were dull. Business of all kinds seemed at a stand-still 
just then, and the starters of an enterprise like this had every 
reason to be cautious. But they believed in stepping boldly into the 
matter. If the young folks wanted a good magazine, they should 
have it, and it would be sure to "pay" both publishers and children 
in the long run. 

From that day to this, the generous injunction of the founders of 
the magazine has been in force, and to fulfill it is the ardent purpose 
of its writers, artists, and the editor, — making one and all eager and 
happy in their work. 

But, after all, the best inspiration for us all must come from 
the boys and girls themselves. In your hearty interest and appre- 
ciation, young friends, St. Nicholas finds life and strength, 
and builds sure hope of a long and prosperous existence. Now 
is the time for drawing close in mutual help and understanding. 
Tell us freely your wishes, your preferences, and your needs, and 
we will meet you according to our best judgment and ability. Soon 
you shall be told our plan for taking you all into a sort of editorial 
partnership, so that every one of you who reads St. Nicholas may, in 
effect, have a voice in its management, and a responsibility to make 
it better and better. By this we do not mean drier and drier, but 
really better and better. Liveliness, freshness, heartiness are in the 
blood of youth, and without these qualities a magazine for boys and 
girls would be a sorry thing, indeed. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I thought you would be glad to know 
about our entertainment, which we had here. We had some nice 
singing of temperance glees, the juvenile play of "Blue Beard," 
and the Fan-Drill for eight little girls. We were dressed very like 
the pictures in the January St. Nicholas, only in different colored 
cambrics, — pink and white, blue and white, etc. Mamma drilled all 
the little girls a month beforehand, and, when the drill came off, 
there was a large audience. The Fan-Drill went off charmingly, 
and everybody was pleased with it, and some day we hope to have 
it again. — Yours truly, Julia T. Pember, 

Dear St. Nicholas: Your June article on "Ostrich-farming" 
was very interesting to me, as I had been reading about the queer 
people and things in South Africa. 

But the ostriches seem to me to be the queerest things of all. 
Just think, — when an ostrich-nest has been found during the absence 
of the parents, and the eggs have not been taken away at once, the 
finder is sure to see, on his return, that the old birds have smashed 
every one of the eggs ! They will do this even when the eggs have 
not been handled, and when the discoverer has not been within fifteen 
feet of the nest. 

I can not see why in the world the birds should wish to destroy the 
eggs merely because somebody has looked at them ; but what puzzles 
me even more is how the absent birds can know that some one has 
been prying into their home. And, if they don't like the eggs to be 
seen, why don't they hide their nests? 

Perhaps, the reason is the same that makes them believe they are 
safely concealed from the hunter's view when only their heads are 
buried in the sand. Some persons say that ostriches do this simply 
because they are stupid ; but I should be glad to think better of them, 
if possible, and I hope somebody will let us know of a more agreeable 
reason. May be, we do not fully understand the birds. Ostriches 
ought to have clever brains as well as fine feathers, to make up for their 
ungainliness and awkward ways. — Yours truly, G. S. K. 

Dear St. Nicholas : My mother knows a gentleman in England 
who has two tame toads, and this is how he first found them : One 
Sunday, when he was sitting reading in his fernery, lie saw two toads 
coming down the path very slowly. One, which was lame, limped 
behind ; and they went on until they came to the rockery, which was 
high and covered with moss and ferns. Then the first toad jumped 
on the bottom stone, and taking the lame foot of his companion in 
his mouth, helped him up from one stone to another, in this way, 
until they reached the top. From that time the gentleman took great 
notice of them, and they soon grew tame. 

Beatrice Brooke Herford. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I live in the Sandwich Islands, and I am 
always very glad when the St. Nicholas comes. I have four 
brothers who are very fond of riding horseback. I "have a little gar- 
den, in which I work every day. 

The other day we all went down to the sea to bathe, and we took 
our lunch with us. The waves were so high that we could not stand 
when they came rolling in. My brothers filled a pail with crabs and* 
little fish, and set it on the shore, buL a high wave carried the pail 

We passed Papa's new sugar-mill on our way home, and rode 
through the cane-fields. When the cane is in flower, it looks very 
pretty. I like to go down to the mill, and go around and taste sirup 
and sugar. 

Good-bye, St. Nicholas. I am eight years old, and my name 
is Maud Baldwin. 

The picture of Eugenio Mauricio Dengremont, on page 721, was 
drawn by Mr. Birch from a beautiful photograph of this famous 
young violinist, taken by Anderson, 785 Broadway, N. Y. 

Dear St, Nicholas : You are known and loved more than 
I could tell you, in our far-away nook of the " Land of Flowers." 
* * * Perhaps you would like to hear about some of our 

Let me tell you about the wonderful "lime-sinks," that help to 
make our Florida famous. These are large basins, or lakes, the 
waters of which are either dark blue or brown, and filled with fish. 
One of these sinks is almost a river, and its water flows continually 
in a narrow bed, between banks shaded with magnolias and other 
rich and scented growths. The trees lock their branches over the 
current, which slides along in perpetual sweet-odored shade, with 
graceful ferns in tall ranks at either side. Then, too, we have a 
lake, out of which the bottom falls once in every fourteen years, 
with a rush and loud roar; and, in the course of a month, it fills 
again to its former level. 

Of course I could tell you ever so much more, but this must do 
for the present. Your friend and reader, J. C. McC. 

A correspondent sends an interesting letter concerning what he 
terms "Repeated Inventions"; but we have room for only a part 
of what he writes : 

Gunpowder was discovered, forgotten, and re -invented more than 
once, as Mr. Judson told us in his article on " Gunpowder," printed 
in St. Nicholas for July, 1877. And there are many other things 
which have been invented more than once, — the steam-boat, for 
instance. Only fifty years after the discovery of America, a barge 
was propelled by steam in the harbor of Barcelona, in Spain. The 
subject was dropped, — forgotten, — until John Fitch, of Connecticut, 
in 1787, made and ran, in his native country, the first steam-boat 
that deserved the name. 

The art of printing with movable types, re-invented in Germany 
nearly five hundred and fifty years ago, already had been known, in 
part, five centuries earlier, in China ; while Roman potters, before 
the Christian era, stamped their wares with such types. 

The Chinese were enlightened with coal-gas hundreds and hun- 



dreds of years before that bright idea dawned in the mind of a 

Sun-pictures of a simple kind were made in the fifteenth century 
by Leonardo da Vinci, the great painter, engineer, architect, 
chemist, and natural philosopher. The art was forgotten, but was 
re-invented in 1760. It again perished, but was revived by James 
Watt, the father of the steam-engine. A third time it was lost, but 
only to be found once more, and firmly established by a Frenchman, 
named Daguerre, after whom the new kind of picture was called, 
for some time, the Daguerreotype. 

Samuel Finley Breese Morse invented, and compelled the use of, 
the electric recording telegraph, in 1844; but in 1746 a Frenchman 
passed electricity through more than a mile of wire; and in 1774 — 
two vears before the first Fourth of July — a man in Switzerland 
actually sent messages by telegraph. 

Some inventions were brought out at the same time by persons so 
widely apart that neither of them could possibly know what the 
other was doing. Thus the quadrant — an instrument used in navi- 
gating ships — was invented at the same time by one man in this 
country and by another in Europe. * * * H. K. G. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little girl twelve years old. I have 
two sisters and one brother, all older than 1 am. We take the St. 
Nicholas, and like it real well. We keep a few sheep. In the 
spring of 1880, one of our sheep had two lambs, and would own only 
one of them. So Pa told us that if wc would take care of the rejected 
Iamb, we might sell it in the fall, and take the money that it brought 
to get the St. Nicholas. So we named the lamb St. Nicholas, 
and nick-named it " Nic. " In the fall, " Nic " was n't quite as large 
as the rest of the lambs, but Pa gave us three dollars, and said that 
"Nic" was his. We bought the St. Nicholas with the three 
dollars. — Yours truly. AlTA HANSELL. 

Dear St. Nicholas: We want to tell your readers about our 
rabbits. Three years ago we had one young one given to us, which 
was black and white ; but a boy killed it, and then we got another, 
which was white, and is alive now. Since that, we have had forty- 
eight, of which eight are. alive now. Seven of them are about three 
weeks old, and can run around faster than the old ones. 

When we feed them, we set a saucer of milk on the floor of the 
rabbit-house, and the old ones begin to drink first; then the little 
ones begin to come out of the nest, one at a time, and get around 
the saucer, and try to drink. All but one are silk-haired rabbits. 
They have all got bright red eyes. 

We are eight and twelve years old. 

Yours truly, Alice and Frank Lansing. 

Dear St. Nicholas: We Old-London friends of yours have 
been very much interested in reading the story of Mary Queen of 
Scots, which you lately gave us, for not long ago we went to West- 
minster Abbey and saw her tomb. It is very fine, and the beautiful 
alabaster figure of the Queen resembles polished ivory, and the face 
is supposed to be a perfect likeness of her. We also saw the altar 
erected by Charles II. to the memory of the little princes who were 
murdered in the Tower. The inscription says : " Here lie the relics 
of Edward V., King of England; and Richard, Duke of York, 
who, being confined in the Tower, and there stifled with pillows, 
were privately and meanly buried by order of their perfidious uncle, 
Richard, the Usurper. Their bones, long inquired after and wished 
for, after lying one hundred and ninety-one years in the rubbish of 
the stairs, were, on the 17th of July, 1674, by undoubted proofs, dis- 
covered, being buried deep in that place. Charles II., pitying their 
unhappy fate, ordered these unfortunate princes to be laid among 
the relics of their predecessors, in the year 1678." 

We saw many things in the Abbey to interest us, and which many 
of your boy and girl readers would like to see, also. — We are your 
delighted readers, Carl and Norris. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Frank Greenwood's letter which you 
printed some time ago suggested to me that I might tell your 
readers about our Bird-saucer, which we set on last summer for the 
birds to drink from. For a long time the only way we knew the 
birds used it was by finding feathers in the water, and, as we filled 
the saucer every morning, the feathers showed plainly that there 
were frequent visitors. One morning, however, when my brother 
opened his blinds earlier than usual, he saw a robin in the dish, 
dipping his head into the water, flirting his feathers, and having a 
glorious bath, while, patiently waiting within a few inches of the 
saucer, stood another robin and a sparrow, watching every motion, 
and eager to hop in the instant he hopped out 

But there is also a sad history connected with the little saucer. 
This autumn we had a new kitty, who proved to be a remarkably 
fine mouser, and I grieve to say an equally successful bird-catcher. 
I was puzzled to know how he managed to bring in every day an 
old bird, for I had found that only the young and foolish birds were 
easily caught. But one morning I discovered puss crouched behind 
the tree which shaded Robin's "free bath," all ready for a spring at 
a fine, large fellow, who was so deeply engaged in a thorough wash 

that he had no eyes for puss, hardly for me. Perhaps it is scarcely 
necessary to add that puss did not catch tliat bird; or how indig- 
nant he looked at me for interfering with his sport. After this, the 
dish was placed in the center of the lawn, where kitty could find no 
shelter near enough for his plans, and I am glad to report that he 
has brought in but one bird since. O. O. 

The best reply we can give to "An Anxious Mother's" letter 
concerning her little girl is the following poem lately sent to us by 
Miss Josephine Pollard : 

The Handsome Miss Ransom. 

Victoria Ransom 

Was really quite handsome 
And stylish, so every one said, 

And it would n't have mattered 

Had she been less flattered, 
Or had a more sensible head. 

But these declarations, 

From friends and relations, 
So pleased Miss Victoria, alas! 

That most of the morning 

Was spent in adorning 
Herself by the aid of the glass. 

So vain and so silly 

Her actions were, really 
Her claims as a beauty grew small ; 

And after a season, 

With very good reason, 
She wasn't admired at all. 

But Victoria Ransom 

Still thought herself handsome, 
And daily her vanity fed ; 

And in my estimation, 

Each friend and relation 
Was to blame for thus turning her head. 

H. M. R. — 1. Pitcairn's Island is but seven miles around. 

2. It was peopled in 1789 by mutineers from the English ship 
"Bounty." In i856therewas not room on the island for the descend- 
ants of the first arrivals, and all the inhabitants were removed to 
Norfolk Island. Three years later, twenty-one of them returned to 
their former home ; in 1864 a company of twenty-seven went back ; 
and the latest counL shows that there now are ninety-five persons 
on the island, — all of them descended from the mutineers who first 
settled upon it. 

3. Of these ninety-five, there are ten boys and seventeen girls be- 
tween the ages of twelve and seventeen years, and forty-two children 
not yet twelve years old. 

Those of our readers who were interested in the article on school- 
luncheons, printed in St. Nicholas for September, 1877, will be 
glad to read the following frank letter from a school-girl of Cold- 
water, Michigan : 

Dear St. Nicholas: In looking over the back numbers of St. 
Nicholas, I came across the piece entitled " School-luncheons." 
I thought that some of your readers would like to hear about a 
"spread" five fun-loving school-girls had. Each of us brought 
different things. I don't remember exactly what we each took, but 
we had a grand dinner. The bill of fare was bread and butter, cold 
meat, pickles, six kinds of cake, oranges, pop-corn, candy, and 
lemonade. The janitor's wife kindly gave us the use of her dining- 
room, and loaned us plates, knives and forks, etc. 

I suppose the "Little School-ma'am" will be shocked at reading 
our menu, and still more to learn that we each ate ez'ery kind 
of cake. We gave our teacher a plate of pop-corn, oranges, and 
candy. She seemed to be much pleased. After our dinner we 
danced in the halls until we were ready to drop. We were all 
sick that afternoon. 

We have had several spreads since that day, but I never shall 
forget that one. — Your constant reader, Mabel R. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I had a black kitten that I used to call 
" Jet, " because he was jet black. Once I had a bad cold, and my 
cousin May was visiting me; we could not go out-of-doors because 
of my cold, so we had to find amusement in the house. Mamma 
gave me alum and salt water for my sore throat, so we played that 
"Jet" was sick, too. We put him in my doll's bed, which is quite 
large, and gave him some of the alum and salt water, with a spoon. 
But the strangest thing was that he seemed to like it, for, every time 
he came into the house, he would go right to the bed and get in him- 
self. — Your little friend, Nettie L. Frost. 




Here are some curious arithmetical facts and puzzles. Some of 
our readers may already have come across them separately elsewhere, 
but we now print them in one budget, as sent by A. G. 

If the number 3 he multiplied by any number, the sum of the 
figures in the product will be 3, or a multiple of 3. 

If any number be multiplied by 9, the sum of the figures in the 
product will be 9, or a multiple of 9. 

If any number be divided by 9, and the sum of its digits divided 
by 9, the remainders will be the same. 

If from any number you subtract the same number written back- 
ward (i. e.j the figures reversed), the remainder will be a multiple 
of 9. 

The product of any two consecutive numbers can be divided by 
2, and the product of three consecutive numbers can always be 
divided by 6. 

The product of two odd numbers is odd, while the product of any 
number of consecutive numbers is even. 

Two Puzzles : A man was carrying a cake of maple-sugar. It 
fell and broke into four pieces, and with those four pieces he could 
weigh anything from one pound to forty. What was the weight 
of each piece ? 

Ans. 1, 3, 9, 27, 

Find three square numbers, which shall be in arithmetical 

Ans. 1, 25, 49. 



Of the thousand members of the Agassiz Association, more have 
expressed a preference for the study of entomology than for almost 
any other branch. Curiously enough, the girls seem to be quite as 
fond of insects as the boys are. It is not difficult to account for this 
preference. The many-hued wings of butterflies flashing in the sun, 
the metallic gleam of beetles, the feathery grace and rich coloring 
of moths, the dreamy pinions of dragon-flies, the excitement of the 
chase, and, above all, the mysterious and symbolic changes which 
attend insect-life, shed a bright fascination about insect-study. 

Attracted by this light, our boys and girls are fluttering about the 
homes of bugs and beetles very much in the same manner that 
bugs and beetles flutter about the lights in our human habitations. 
Let me, then, hasten to answer the three questions which are 
puzzling so many of our correspondents: How catch? how kill? 
how keep ? By far the best way to catch a butterfly is to find a 
caterpillar ; keep him in a glass box ; feed him with leaves of the 
plant on which you found him; and watch him day by day, as he 
changes his various garments, "spins himself up" till he bursts or 
perforates his cerements and unrolls his wings, with every painted 
shingle in its place, his "feathers" quite unruffled on his head, and 
his six legs under him in unmutilated entireness. Full directions 
for raising insects, making glass cases, etc., are contained in a little 
book called " Insect Lives," published at a dollar, by Robert 
Clarke, Cincinnati, Ohio. 

In addition to this method of capture, you will need a ligh 
gauze net. Any boy can make one of these in half an hour. Get 
three-fourths of a yard of silk veiling; ask Mother to make a bag 
of it, with a hem around the top wide enough to run a pipe-stem 

through ; pass a thick wire through this and bend it into the shape 

shown in the little picture ; fasten the ends of this wire to a light 

stick, five or six feet long, and your net is 

made. A third method of capturing moths 

is that of painting trees with a mixture of 

rum, beer, and sugar. This is done in the 

early evening, and later, lantern in hand, 

you go about from tree to tree and tap into 

your net the insects stupefied by the sweet but fatal sirup. 

To kill insects, provide yourself with a ' wide -mouthed jar. A 
candy -jar is good. Lay three or four pieces of cyanide of potassium, 
the size of a walnut, on the bottom of the inside; pour over these 
plaster of Paris, made liquid by water, until the lumps of poison are 
covered. The plaster will quickly harden, leaving a smooth and 
deadly floor, on which any insect, when dropped, will quickly and 
quietly pass away. The jar must be kept stopped with an air-tight 
cover. It will keep its strength all summer. 

Never Pass a pin through a liznng insect. 

Chloroform, etc., have no permanent effect on large moths. We 
have had some heart-rending experiences, which would satisfy you 
of this; but we spare you the pain of their recital. 

But the greatest problem is how to preserve our specimens. 
Well do I remember my dismay at finding, on my return from a 
summer vacation, that the wretched little Dennestes had turned a 
fine collection of Lepidoptcra into sad little heaps of sawdust, and 
broken legs, and antenna;. 

To prevent this destruction, beetles and other small insects should 
be soaked in a solution of arsenic in alcohol {fourteen grains of 
arsenic to a pint and a half of alcohol). Of course, you should ask 
your parents, or some older friend, to attend to these preparations 
•which 1 have ?nentioned, as great care is ?iccessary in handling the 

Butterflies and moths should be pinned into cedar cases, made air- 
tight and strongly guarded by lumps of gum-camphor or cyanide of 
potassium. In addition to these precautions, all specimens should 
be subjected to a rigid quarantine of a month before being trans- 
ferred to the collection. Even then, eternal vigilance is the price of 
success. The cases must be carefully examined every month, and 
any indications of danger must be regarded. In such event, pour a 
few drops of chloroform into the case, and close the cover. This 
will drive the destructive creatures into sight from crack and cranny. 
Kill them, preserving one or two for specimens, and renew your 
previous precautions. In the Southern States, tin cases will prove 
effectual against ants. 

Another paper must be devoted, at a later time, to this subject, 
and we must tell you how to prepare your specimens for the cabinet ; 
but for the present we must be content with cautioning you to pin 
beetles through the right wing case, and not between the wings. 
Next time, we must tell about some of our most interesting chap- 
ters, — where they are and what they are doing. 

By the way, our summer vacation will begin in a few days, and 
we shall be off, — the trout know where ; so we shall be obliged to 
ask our numerous unseen friends to reserve their letters until the 
fall term calls us back to the Academy Please send no letters 
between July 1st and September 15th. After that, address, as usual, 
Harlan H. Ballard, Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass. 





Upon the day named by the primals, America gained the finals. 

To reproach. 4. 
A prognostic. I 
mischievous boy. 
New England. 

.. Sudden growths. 2. A constellation. 3. 
A deserter. 5. A vegetable. 6. Enormous. 7. 
A quarrel between clans. 9. A jest. 10. A 
11. The art of reasoning. 12. An inhabitant of 



The central letters (indicated by stars), when read downward, 
spell the first name and surname of a person famous in history. 

Across: i. In cannonading. 2. Nourished. 3. A slender stick. 
4. To equip. 5. Past. 6. A small barrel. 7. To possess. 8. A 
label. 9. To inquire. 10. An exclamation. 11. Crime. 12. A 
conjunction. 13. A sweet substance. 14. To praise. 15. A 
learner. 16. Part of a church. edward f. biddle. 

fluid. My 5-37-60-2-46-25-58 is an acid fluid. My 29-38 is aloft. 
My 3-54-31-40-8-51-35 is a lady who entertains guests. My 36-57- 
18-44 ls t0 attend. My 66-23-16-67-49 is the product of a tropical 
tree. My 61-6-41 is atmospheric moisture. My 64-39-65-59-17 is a 
treatise. My 53-15-4-20 is part of the body. M. wells. 


1. The captain had the rebel fastened securely with many chains. 
2. Carl is lending his books and toys continually. 3. Jessie has 
had a beautiful new portfolio given to her. 4. She gave me the 
box for drawing the design so carefully. 5. Come and see my 
kitten, Tab, at her breakfast. 6. The clasp is almost broken. 7. The 
boy has already walked over ten miles. 


I AM composed of twelve letters, and am the first name and the 
surname of a general of the Revolutionary War. 

My 2-11-12 is a boy's nickname. My 3-8-10 is to flee. My 1-9 is 
a perse nal pronoun. My 7-4-6-5 is to appear white. lizzie c. c. 


A creature of time is my first, 

And time itself is my second, 
By which the days of one's life 

May always be safely reckoned. 
My second may nourish my first; 

My first may issue my whole ; 
Animate and inanimate life 

I am, and I seek to control. 


All the words described are of equal length, and the central 
letters name a national holiday. 

Cross-words: i. A place for storing corn. 2. A small insect. 
3. To sum up. 4. To fondle. 5. Quick. 6. To annoy. 7. A 
conjunction. 8. Bustle. 9. A black mineral. 10. Finish. 11. A 
division of a play. 12. Recompense. 13. A lyric poem. 14. To 
exclude. 15. Forever. dvcie. 



Mv first is in surf, but not in wave; 

My second in valiant, not in brave. 

My third is in powder, but not in cap ; 

My fourth is in crackle, but not in snap. 

My fifth is in rocket, but not in light ; 

My sixth is in power, but not in might. 

My seventh in racket, but not in noise; 

My eighth in balance, but not in poise. 

My ninth in knapsack, but not in gun; 

My tenth in jubilee, not in fun; 

My eleventh in banner, but not in flag; 

My twelfth is in steed, but not in nag. 

My whole make "music" once a year, 

Young patriotic hearts to cheer. s. T. p. 


My first is in knight, but not in earl; 
My second in fold, but not in furl. 
My third is in sleep, but not in wake ; 
My fourth is in give, but not in take. 
My fifth is in sand, but not in shore ; 
My sixth is in heart, but not in core; 
My seventh in coy, but not in bold ; 
My whole is welcome to young and old. 



I am composed of sixty-nine letters, and am a victorious dispatch, 
dated September 10, 1813, which a famous naval officer sent to his 

My 43-34-1 is an inclination of the body. My 7-45-63-27 is 
belonging to me. My 52-28-32-9-48-14 is a plant extensively culti- 
vated in warm countries. My 21-50-56-68-26 is purport. My 22-42- 
69-12, when deferred, " maketh the heart sick," says Proverbs. My 
33-62-30-47-10 can be no worse. My 11-55-19-13-24 is a sweet 


1. In Andromeda. 2. The god of herdsmen. 3. The mother of 
Perseus. 4. What Pegasus might be called. 5. In Jupiter. 




Trace a way into this maze, without crossing a line, so as to enter 
the five circles, one after another, in the order of their inclosed 
numerals (which indicate the present year), reaching at last the 
fire-crackers in the center. 


Little 6-7-8 was neither a prince of the 6-7-8-9-10 family, nor a 
very good boy. One day his grandmother sent him to the store for 
a bunch of 1-2-3-4-5-6- 7-8-9- 10 ; but instead of doing as she 
bade, he spent the 1-2-3-4-5 she gave him, and bought a rude 
1-2-3 f° r his pet rabbit. M. c. d. 





— - - «*&*&$£& 

pose a relishing condiment, and make that which produces a result. 

6. Transpose wood sawed for use, and make a low, heavy sound. 

7. Transpose the religion of Mohammed, and make bags for the 
conveyance of letters and papers. 8. Transpose covered with fine 
sand, and make thoughtful attention. 9. Transpose to climb by a 
ladder, and make delicate tissues of thread. 10. Transpose a sub- 
stance used to give luster to metal or glass, and make a knave. D. 

The answer to the above puzzle is a word of six letters. To solve 
the puzzle, first read the pictures as a rebus, forming a stanza of six 
lines, each of which begins with a letter T. This stanza itself is an 
enigma, the solution of which reveals, in proper order, the six letters 
of the answer. G. F. 


1. Transpose a place where grain is stored, and make a sworn 
officer of an English forest 2. Transpose a mournful piece of music, 
and make a range of mountains. 3. Transpose an omnibus, and 
make the barriers to openings in an inclosing fence. 4. Transpose 
a low, dwarf tree, and make the trophy of a fox-chase. 5. Trans- 


Easy Transpositions, i. Ocean — canoe. 2. Words — sword. 
3. Cork — rock. 4. Huts — shut. 5. Manor — Roman. 6. Organ — 
groan. 7. Printer — reprint. 8. Mabel — blame. 

Pi. Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, 
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, 
When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, 
Stars that in earth's firmament do shine. 

Henry W. Longfellow, in Flowers. 
1. PoPpy. 2. LeAve. 3. PANSY. 4. 

II. 1. ViPer. 2. TrAil. 3. PANSY. 4. 

III. 1. GyPsy. 2. CIAim. 
IV. 1. MaPle. 2. SnAre. 

V. 1. ApPle. 2. StAnd. 3. 

Word-squares. I. 

RoSes. 5. 
EsSay. 5. 
4. EaSel. 
4. MiSty. 
BiSon. 5. 


5. RoYal. 
5. StYle. 

3. PANSY. 
3. PANSY. 

PANSY. 4. 

Geographical Puzzle. May — Man — George — Rome (roam) — 
The Woods — Society — Charles — Henry — Skye {sky)— Clear — Hartz 
(hearts) — Chill (chilly) — Morocco— Sandwich — Oyster — Bordeaux — 
Martha's Vineyard — Pearl — Ann — Negro — Scilly (silly) — Look- 
out — Nantucket (Nan took it). 
Numerical Enigma. 

"A noise like of a hidden brook 
In the leafy month of June." 
Samuel T. Coleridge, in The Ancient Mariner, Part V. 
Double Acrostic. Initials : Turkey. Finals : Greece. Cross- 
words : 1 . ThonG. 2. UproaR. 3. RenegadE. 4. KitE. 5. 
EpiC. 6. YorK 

Connected Diamonds. 


S T R A W 

E R R Y 

German Cousins. 
5. Den. 6. Herb. 7. 

:. Hut. 

War. 12. Gift. Charade. 

Easy Pictorial Anagram. 

4. Grab. 
Tag. 11. 

2. Mutter. 3. Kind. 
J. Bad. 9. Fern. 10. 

1. Sloop — loops. 2. Palm — lamp 
3. Anchor — Charon. 4. Sprites — stripes. 5. Spot — post — tops- 
stop. Easy Cross-word Enigma. June. 

Diamond. i. O. 2. ASp. 3. LaTch, 4. OstRich. 5. 
Priam. 6. ACt. 7. H. 

The names of solvers are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. 

Solutions of April puzzles were received, too late for acknowledgment in the June number, from Lillie Keppelman, Canstatt, 2 — ■ 
A. M. Gardner, 12. 

Answers to Puzzles in the May number were received, before May 20, from "Jessamine," 2 — J. Milton Gitterman, 2 — "Blanke 
Family," 17 — H. A. Vedder, 10— H. Ickelheimer, 1 — Walter K. Smith, 3 — B. and G. Hallam, 2 — Alice S. Rhoads, 4 — Nellie Slide)!, 3 — 
Lottie Pearsall, 2— Mamie I. Stockwell, 3 — A. Mabel Raber, 6 — W. W. S. Hoffman, 3 — Jane B. Haine, 1 — May L. Shepard, 5 — Willie R. 
Witherle, 3 — Violet, 3 — Alice B. Wilbur, 5 — W. P. Measle, 5 — E. L. Gould, 2 — Howard Coale, 1 — Florence Wilcox, 17 — Kate T. Wendell, 
8 — Joseph G. Deane, 4 — Hattie Varney, 6 — J. H. Ingersoll, 3 — T. G. White, 3 — Reader, 1 — Ruth Camp, 7 — Frank S. Willock, 4 — E. L. 
Gould, 1 — George W. Bames, S — Effie K. Talboys, 1 — Lizzie H. D. St. Vrain, 12 — "Peasblossom," 1 — Camille Giraud, 8 — Lizzie 
McClannin, 1 — A. H. Craft, 3 — George Brown, 8 — Clara L. Northway, 10 — "Jessie," 15 — Daisy Smith, 8 — Henry C. Brown, 18 — Annie 
W. Ingle, 4 — Willie F. Harris, 12 — Mrs. J. B. and Leon Stevenson, 6 — Puss and Bob, 5 — Gracie L. Street, 6 — V. E. L. H., 14 — Maude G. 
Fiero, 6 — Edward Vultee, 18 — Nannie M. Duff", 1 — Mabel Thompson, 7 — John W. Stebbins, 3 — C. A. C, 13 — John W. Wroth, 7 — Gustav 
and Albert Tuska, 5 — Kate Reynolds, 6 — Bella A., 4 — Frank G. Newland, 9 — Rose I. Rantan, 8 — BlinkenhofF, 6— Paul England, 3 — 
Nellie Caldwell, 5 — Barclay Scovil, 2 — Caroline Larrabee, 6 — "Professor & Co.," 12 — Lalla E. Croft, 3 — Bessie and Edith Nesbitt, 4 — 
Lizzie D. Fyfer, 9 — Alice Taylor, 4 — W. Eyes, 18 — Edith Boyd, 2 — "Mignonette," 6— Marion and Daisy, 4 — Henry Kerr, 13 — Frank R. 
Heath, 13 — J. Harry Robertson, 4 — Buttercup and Daisy, 4 — M. H. Huntington and E. K. Francis, 10 — J. W. G., 2 — Sadie B. Beers, 6 — 
Marion Booth, 6 — X. Y. Z., 8 — Minnie Van Buren, 3 — Annie C. Holton, 5 — Percy Ryan, 1 — "Wall and Thisbe," 13 — Clara and Joe, 15 — 
Maud E. Benson, 1 — '* Mauch Chunk," 15 — Puzzler, 2 — C. H. Young, 18 — Ellen L. Bryan, 11 — Lewis P. Robinson, 2 — Jeanie and 
Edward Smith, o. — J. S. Jenks, 1— Rosie A. Palist, 4 — "Phyllis," 12 — Mabel Wagnalls, 5 — "George and Frank," 17 — Mary M. Malle- 
son, 1 — Isabel Bingay, 10 — Alice Allsworth and Eleanor B. Farley, 4 — Wisconsin, 8 — Lilla and Daisy, 7 — Sallie Viles, 16 — Irvington, 15 — 
Rubie and Grace, 13 — Clara Mackinney, 7 — Frank P. Turner, 17 — " North Star" and "Little Lizzie, ' 9 — Lulu M. Hutchins, 13 — Maud L. 
Smith, 6—1. H. B., 12— G. Dreeme, 5— M. E. Hall, 9— B. C. C, 1— Belle and Bertie, 15— J. B. Bourne, 3— B. B. Potrero, 11— Daisy and 
Buttercup, 6 — Florence, John, Allie, and Clem, 5 — "Oakland," 11 — A. P. Slone, 3 — Letitia Preston, 4 — P. S. Clarkson, 15 — Fred. C. 
McDonald, 18 — Daisy May, 18 — Thomas Denny, Jr., 3 — Howard C. Warren, 14 — "Queen Bess,*' 17 — Lizzie Nammack, 13 — Fred. 
Thwaits, 18— Fanny Pellette, 12 — " Chuck," 17 — "Manuscript," 8 — Bettie and Harry Stromenger, 5 — Annie Mills and Louie Everett, 18 — 
Lizzie C. Camahan, ir — "M'liss," 5 — J. Ollie Gayley, 6 — Susie Goff, 7 — M. M. Libby, 15 — Chas. S. Emerson, 5 — Katy Flemming, 11 — 
Male Stevenson, 1 — George Totten Smith, 1 — Gracie Hewlett and Lulu Crabbe, 18 — Robert A. Gaily, 10 — C. G. Brownell, 16 — O. W. and 
R. Y. Y., 9 — E. M. and R. H. Pomeroy, q — Alex, 8 — From Va., 1 — Madge K. L., and Frank Smith, 7 — Gussie and Julia Larrabee, 15 — 
P. and I., 8 — "Amos Quito," 9 — Ed. C. Carshaw, 11 — Willie and M. Conant, 13 — Belle W. Brown, 12 — Florence G. Lane, 8 — Herbert 
Barry, 18 — " Carol and her Sisters," is — "Trailing Arbutus," 3 — Virginie Callmeyer, 12 — F. Benedict, 1 — Willie F. Woolard, 3 — Willie 
T. Mandeville, 9 — Archie and Hugh Burns, — Alice Maud Kyte, 18 — Florence Leslie Kyte, 18 — "So-So," 12 — L. and W. McKinney, 13 — 
Sophie M. Geiske, 7 — J. S. Tennant, 13 — Harriet L. Pruyn, 3 — Carrie and Mary Speiden, 11 — Ella M. Parker, 5 — C. J. and P, Durbrow, 
18 — Ella Boudy, 3 — Harry H. Knowles, 13 — Dycie Warden, 13. Numerals denote the number of puzzles solved. 



Vol. VIII. AUGUST, 1S81 . No. 10. 

[Copyright, 1881, by The CENTURY Co] 


MOTHER said: "That's all, dear. Now run outdoors and play." 

Father said the same; 

And so I came. 
But, somehow, they forget that I 'm growing every day. 

A girl can't always frolic. Why, lambs are sometimes still, 
Though whenever they feel like it, they caper with a will. 
And birds may stop their singing while their hearts are full of song. 
I 've seen them look so solemn ! And when the day is long 
They often hide among the boughs and think, — I 'm sure they do ; 
I 've peered between the twitching leaves, and seen them at it, too ! 

But if a girl stands still and thinks, the people always say : 
" As you 've nothing else to do, dear, why don't you go and play? 

Well, all I know is this : It 's nice 

To jump the rope, and skip and swing, or skate on winter ice; 
It 's nice to romp with other girls and laugh as loud as they, — 
But not to-day. 

Dear me ! How sweet and bright it is, this lovely, lovely Earth ! 
And not a thing upon it dreams how much it 's really worth. 
Except the folks. They calculate and set themselves quite high ; 
Oh, my! 

You dear, good sky, to bend so soft and kind above us all ! 
(It 's queer to think this great wide world is nothing but a ball 

Rolling, they say, through space ; — 

How does it keep its place ? 
None of my business, I suppose. ) — I wonder if the brook 
Is full to-day. It 's early yet ; — I think I '11 go and look. 

Vol. VIII.— 47. 





By John V. Sears. 

"See here, Mother; here's a dandelion, as 
bright as gold ! Spring is here at last, and I '11 
have to be making garden in a day or two." 

"Yes, David; spring has come, and I suppose 
we must get about our work pretty soon." 

Mrs. Throckmorton had opened the sitting-room 
window to talk with David, and, as the warm sun 
streamed in, and a soft air stirred the sweet-brier 
which he was fastening against the side of the cot- 
tage, it seemed as though spring was not coming, 
but going, and that summer must be near at 
hand. But there was little summer in her eyes. 



"You don't seem to feel very glad, Mother; I 
thought you 'd be real pleased to see the first dan- 

" Oh, I am, of course. It is always nice to see 
things growing, and the flowers coming out again ; 
but it just reminds me that I must be writing to 
Mr. Wilson." 

" What about ? They '11 not want to come down 
these two months yet." 

" They want Remsen to come down as soon as 
the weather 's mild enough." 

"Remsen alone?" 

"Yes, I suppose so. You know he 's delicate, 
and they want him to live 'longshore awhile." 

"He eats too much, and makes himself sick; 
that 's all the ' delicate ' he is. " 

"Hush, my son; the doctor says he needs a 

"Yes, he does need a change; any change 
would be for the better ; but I wish he would n't 
come here for it." 

"David! David! you must n't talk so ! I dare 
say he 's a good boy enough, only he 's been too 
much petted at home." 

"Rem Wilson is not a good boy; he 's mean, 
selfish, conceited, and overbearing ; that 's what he 
is ; and I know he does n't tell the 
truth, either." 

" My dear son, don't say such 
things, even if you think them." 

" Well, Mother, I never do, only to 
you ; but it 's a fact, and I don't like 

"I know it, and I 'm very sorry; 
but it can't be helped now. I 've 
promised to take him, and besides, 
they pay well, and we need the 
money. " 

The Throckmortons lived near the 
mouth of the Shrewsbury River, and 
at that time — many years ago — the 
old Shrewsbury inlet was open, mak- 
ing a navigable water-way between 
the river and the sea. A steam-boat 
plied every day between the river and 
New York, running through the inlet 
at high tide, as at low water the sand 
was nearly bare. In about a week 
after the finding of the dandelion, the 
steam-boat brought down Rem Wilson 
and his trunk, and Smalley was sent 
to the Ocean House landing with a little boat to 
bring the guest home. Smalley was a young col- 
ored retainer of the Throckmortons, about the same 
age as David, — thirteen or fourteen years. His 
real name was Charles Peck, but he was so little 
that the boys called him "Small Measure," and 
this title degenerated in time to " Smalley," or 

David did not go to meet Remsen, as he was 
busy in the garden, and this work pressed so hard 
that for some time the boys saw very little of each 
other. Remsen tried his hand at digging and 
planting for a day or two, but he soon tired of it 
and wandered off 'longshore. He wearied of the 



shore, too, presently, and began to tease David to 
go out sailing or fishing. David refused, on ac- 
count of his work; but his mother intervened and 
asked him to go. 

" It is dull here for Remsen," she said, " and we 
must try to entertain him ; besides, his mother has 
written especially to request that we shall not cross 
him in anything more than we can help. The 
doctor says it is bad for his nerves." 

David owned a seine-skiff, eighteen feet long and 
pulling four sweeps. She had a center-board, was 
rigged with mainsail and jib, and was a good sailer 
with any wind. This boat, called the " Alice," 
was overhauled, and put in good trim, and, on a 
pleasant afternoon, Remsen was taken for a sail. 
He was satisfied for a while, tacking about the 
river, but presently he wanted to run out through 
the inlet and take a good long stretch on the ocean, 
where they would n't have to jibe every five minutes. 
David said no ; it was'too late in the day, and, fur- 
ther, he never went outside without letting his 
mother know. Remsen jeered at him for being a 
baby, tied to his mother's apron-string, and sharp 
words followed, of course, so the excursion was not 
a pleasant one, after all. 

Remsen appealed to Mrs. Throckmorton for per- 
mission to go out on the sea, but she, too, decidedly 
said no. He persisted in teasing for two or three 
days, and she finally resolved to refer the matter to 
his father. On the following Monday, Remsen 
walked over to Port Washington, and returned 
with an open letter in his hand, declaring his 
father consented to an occasional trip out through 

the inlet when the 
provided the boat 
David should sail it. 
written in post- 
torn of the 
page, was 
shown to 



marked, however, there could be no gainsaying 
black and white, so the boy carried his point. 

There was no peace in the house thereafter until 
the arrangements for the expedition were all made, 
and the tide served right for an early start, and the 

weather was fair, 
was safe and that 
This message, 
script at the bot- 



Mrs. Throckmorton. She read the paragraph with 
a good deal of surprise, as, from the explanations 
she had made in her letter to Mr. Wilson, she 
expected Remsen's request would not be granted 
at all, or, at least, not so readily. As she re- 


weather promised to be fair all day. The settle- 
ment of these various conditions occupied several 
days, and, during the time, Remsen continued to 
fret and worry until the family were glad enough 
when a morning came that David thought would 
suit their purpose. A very early breakfast was 
hurried through ; a pair of plump roasted chickens, 
some beef sandwiches, and a basket of goodies were 
packed away in the stern locker of the boat ; the 
fishing-lines and a " blickie " of soft clams 
for bait stowed in the forward locker, a com- 
'-=---■ fortable armful of oil-skins and wraps was 
bundled under the thwarts, 
and before sunrise, the three 
boys, Remsen, David, and 
Smalley, started to spend 
the day on the sea. 

They had some crooked 
work to get out of the river, with light airs 
baffling about the Navesink Highlands, but, after 
clearing Sandy Hook, they found a steady breeze 
from the south-west, balmy and pleasant as a 
breath of midsummer. Remsen thought he would 
like to see how Long Branch looked from the 
sea, so they made their jib, hauled the sheets 
close, and stood down the shore about six miles, 




until they ran past the town. Then they put 
about, lifted the center-board, and squared away 
for a race before the wind. There were a good 


many coasters and small craft going up to N 
York with all the canvas spread they could carry, but 
the "Alice " passed them all, swooping along over 
the low, broad billows like an osprey in its flight. 
The boys enjoyed this fun heartily, and shouted -. 
in high glee whenever they shot ahead of a 
sloop or schooner on their course. The ijjMl 
whole morning was spent in giving chase 
to one vessel after another, and at noon 
they found themselves well up toward 
Romer's Shoals. Then they dropped the 
jib, slacked the peak, and laid the "Alice " to 
for dinner. The center-board was laid athwart- 
ships for a table, the provisions were unpacked 
and spread out in tempting array, jack-knives and 
jaws were plied with industry, and the chickens 
and crullers disappeared with amazing speed. 

After dinner, they put off shore about eight miles 
to the fishing grounds, and tried their luck for cod- 
fish. They did not catch anything for a long time, 
and Remsen got tired of waiting for fish that did 
not come. Just as they were about to give it up, 

Smalley got a bite, and, in the course of an hour 
or so, they caught several fine cod. When Remsen 
had pulled up his second fish, David decided it was 
time to start for home. The sun was yet high, and 
Remsen wanted very much to "catch just one 
more," so they waited another half-hour and then 
sail was made again. As they got under way, 
Z. Smalley discovered a school of porpoises, the 
first of the season, just off their starboard 
bow. David started the sheet a little, and 
the "Alice" glided quietly in among them, 
without disturbing them in the least. They 
rolled lazily over in the sea, and grunted 
and snorted like a drove of pigs, playing 
around the bows of the boat, so close that 
the boys could almost reach out and touch 
them. Even David had never before en- 
joyed an opportunity to become so inti- 
mately acquainted with porpoises, and the 
boat was allowed to drift along with the 
school, while the boys leaned over the side 
and watched the motions of the clumsy 
creatures with intense interest. Finally, 
Smalls straightened himself up, and, taking 
a look about, exclaimed in surprise : 

"Hi, Marse Dave, if dere aint de big 

light ! " 

Dave sprang to his feet and there, sure 

enough, was the great light-house on Sandy 

Hook, square on their weather beam. The 

"Alice" had drifted into the ship-channel, and 

the wind and tide together had carried her along 

much more rapidly than her crew realized, busy 

as they were in studying natural history. 


"Boom out 

that jib!" 

cried Dave, 

as he jumped aft, cast off the sheet, and put the 

"Alice" before the wind. 

." Why, what are you going to do ? " asked Rem- 




sen, surprised by the sudden activity of his com- 
panions. " Are n't we going home?" 

"If we can get there ! " answered Dave. 

dirty-white- foam came dancing by, on the surface 
of the sea. At the same instant, the wind died out 
with a long sigh, and a flat calm fell upon the 
water. The boat lost way, and her head swung 
slowly round and pointed toward the open ocean. 
The tide had turned. 

"Out sweeps!" cried David, dropping the jib 
and letting the mainsail run down at the same 
time. " Take an oar, Rem. I '11 pull against you 
and Smalley. Give way for your lives, fellows ! 
Bend to it now, smartly ! " 

The boys pulled with a will, and once more the 
boat began to crawl up toward the black buoy. 
The tide was beginning to run strong, however, 
and it required their utmost exertions to force the 
heavy boat against it. She moved slower and 
slower as she neared the goal, and David had to 
urge the others by voice and example at every 
stroke. Just as he was thinking, " We shall make 
it, after all," Remsen threw up his oar, exclaiming: 

" I can't pull this thing; it hurts my hands." 

David's eighteen-foot sweep gave the boat a 
sheer, the rushing current caught her under the 
counter, and in an instant she was whirling out to 

=^t at dinner off 

> rower's shoals. 

" We 've missed the inlet, fooling around with those 
plaguy porpoises ; can't make it with wind dead 
against us, and now we must push for inside the 
Hook, and then work our way home as best 
we can." 

They ran on at -a lively gait for a mile 
or two, but then the wind began to fall as 
the sun sank behind the Highlands, and an 
anxious shade came into David's frank face. 

"Here, Rem," he said, "you take the 
tiller, while I go forward and look for the 
black buoy." 

As he stepped upon the forward locker, 
he could see the buoy which marks the 
point of Sandy Hook, about half a mile 
ahead, and, noting that it stood straight in 
the water, he knew that the flood was full, 
and in a few minutes the ebb tide would set 
in. The boat still rippled along fairly well, 
but the boom swung ominously to and fro 
as the wind came in light puffs, each fainter 
than the last. If the breeze would only hold 
a few minutes to carry them inside the buoy, 
they would be all right. It might take them 
some hours after that to reach home, but they 'd 
get there safe and sound before midnight. David 
watched the sail and the buoy with the closest 
attention. The black cylinder drew near and 
nearer, and his hopes rose every moment. He 
was actually counting the rivets on the side of the 
buoy next the sun, when a long, crooked line of 

sea ten 

miles an hour, 
broke out 


in loud reproach and lamentation, but " Marse 
Dave " had nothing to say. He could not trust 
himself to speak, and so, wisely, kept silent, vig- 




orously setting about stowing the sails and making 
everything snug aboard. 

"What are we going to do now?" asked 


"Where are we going?" 

" Nowhere." 

" Come, you 're not going to stay here all night ! 
Let 's be going home." 

" All night it is ! No home for us till to-morrow 
morning ! " 

When Remsen fairly understood that they must 
stay out all night on the ocean in an open boat, he 
was frightened out of his wits. He wanted to get 
out the sweeps again, and try once more to pass 
the black buoy, promising to pull twice as hard as 
before ; but David said : 

" Too late ! the tide rips through there now like 
a mill-race ! Twenty men could n't stem it ! " 

As the "Alice " drifted out with the ebb, the twi- 
light deepened into darkness, the land disappeared, 
the stars shone in the sky wonderfully near and 
bright, and the awful solemnity of solitude on the 
sea encompassed the benighted young voyagers. 
David was very anxious about his mother, and he 
also had some fears of the storm signs noticed at 
sunset; but otherwise he and Smalls were com- 
fortable enough, making a hearty supper of sand- 
wiches and crullers, and stowing themselves on the 
thwarts, afterward, wrapped up for a nap. But 
Remsen was too miserable to either eat or sleep. 
He fretted and moaned incessantly, — was so un- 
reasonable, pettish, and absurd that the others lost 
all patience, and finally paid no more attention to 
his complaints. 

During the evening, the wind rose again, and, 
backing round to the south-cast, began to blow 
quite heavily. This wind against tide made an ugly, 
chopping sea, which pitched the "Alice" about 
with a sharp, jerking motion, exceedingly trying to 
any one unaccustomed to the water. The two 
'longshore boys did not mind it, but the city-bred 
youth was made deathly sick. He had made so 
much ado before, that no notice was taken of him 
for a long time, and he lay neglected on the stern- 
sheets, tumbled about from side to side, as the 
boat tossed and twisted in the sea; sick, bruised, 
frightened, thinking he surely should die — the most 
forlorn and wretched object imaginable. After a 
time, David discovered that the limp heap on the 
locker, wet, draggled, and half unconscious, was 
really Rem Wilson in distress, and he accordingly 
bestirred himself to extend help. But it was very 
difficult to do anything for the patient. He slid 
off the locker and rolled around in the bottom of 
the boat, too dolefully sick to know or to care what 
was going on about him. David was troubled, 

and knew not what to do, until, after a while, 
Smalley had a bright idea, as, indeed, he often had. 

" Dere 's de light-ship off to wind'ard," said 
that diminutive person; "let 's get 'em to take 
him aboard and put him to bed." 

Accordingly, they made sail on the "Alice," 
trimmed her flat, and ran down to the two great 
globes of fire that showed where the beacon-boat 

" Light-ship, ahoy ! " hailed David, as they drew 

" Ay, ay ! " answered a gruff voice. 

"If Ned Osborne is there, tell him Dave Throck- 
morton wants to come on board." 

Ned Osborne, the light-keeper, answered in 
person, and, on David's explaining matters, he 
rigged a whip used for taking in stores, and pres- 
ently had the sick boy safely slung from the boat 
to the deck of the ship. Rem was then carried 
below and put in a berth, where he was taken care 
of as best he could be under the circumstances. 
The boat was made fast, and the two other boys 
were also given berths aboard the ship. 

Next morning, Dave was astir before daylight, 
and, finding the invalid unfit to be moved, he 
decided to put off without him, as the wind was 
rising and the storm threatened to grow more vio- 
lent. The cod-fish were brought aboard from the 
"Alice," a breakfast of fish, potatoes, and hard- tack 
was shared with the watch on deck, and then the 
seine-skiff was headed for horne, under double- 
reefed mainsail. The breeze was very stiff, and 
the boat fairly flew through the water, making the 
seven miles between the light-ship and Sandy 
Hook in half an hour. 

It was still early when the two boys reached the 
house, and they found that Mrs. Throckmorton 
had been waiting for them all night, walking the 
floor most of the time in restless anxiety. 

" I should n't have felt so bad about it," she said, 
"but you were hardly out of sight when neighbor 
Simmons came in with this letter he had brought 
over from Port Washington the night before. It 
is from Mr. Wilson, and he very decidedly forbids 
Remsen's going outside the Hook before settled 
summer weather. I can't understand why his 
letter to Remsen and this one to me should be so 

"I can," said Dave; "Rem wrote that post- 
script himself." 

"Dear! dear! do you really think so ? " 

" I thought so from the first, and now I fee] sure 
of it." 

" Well, I look for his father this afternoon or 
to-morrow, and then we '11 know. I wrote him 
again by the first mail yesterday." 

Mr. Wilson arrived toward evening, as expected, 




and was very much alarmed and distressed to find 
his boy was off on the light-ship. By that time 
the storm had set in furiously, and there was noth- 
ing to be done but wait for better weather. When 
asked as to the postscript, he merely shook his 
head and walked quickly away; so there was very 
little said about it. A terrific tempest raged on 
land and sea for three days and nights, flinging 
many a wreck upon the coast, and causing sad 
destruction of property on shore, beside. Mr. 
Wilson chartered a sloop at Port Washington to 
go off to the light-ship ; but it was late on the 
fourth day before they could venture to go out. 
Just as they were getting under way, Smalley dis- 

covered a sail coming up the river, which he de- 
clared was Ned Osborne's cutter. 

As the craft drew near, it proved to be Ned 
Osborne, indeed, bringing the sick boy home. 
The agonies he suffered on the light-ship, his 
terrible experience during the storm, and the 
shame and contrition he felt on coming back, 
worked a wonderful change in Rem Wilson. He 
looked like the ghost of his former self as they 
carried him into the house. 

" This will be a lesson for him that he '11 never 
forget," said David. 

And he never did, being a different and a better 
boy from that day forth. 


By Emma M. Davis. 

LMOST ev- 
at some 
time or 
other, has 
made the 
ance of the milkweed, 
or silkweed, as I have 
heard it called. 

A reason for each of 
these names is very ap- 
parent. If you break 
the stem, a sticky sub- 
stance like milk runs 
from it, which will stain 
your clothes. Why the 
plant is also called silk- 
weed, I shall explain to 
you presently. 

I knew this weed very 
well in New England 
when I was a little girl. 
In July, it hangs out a 
cluster of small purple 
bells, and later, after 
the blossoms have gone, 
very large seed-pods are 
formed, which grow to be several inches long, and 
are pointed at the end opposite the stem. If these 
pods were left on the plant until the seeds were 
fully ripened, they would split open themselves, 
and gradually the seeds would fly out, carrying 
with them enough of these silken threads, as fine 

as a spider's web, to float them on the wind for 
miles away, perhaps. You must have seen them 
many a time. The silk radiates in every direction 
from the central seed, making a gauzy, filmy 
sphere, with a small, dark center. The seeds 
cluster about the opening of the pod, until the 
wind picks them out and carries them abroad, 
but if you pick some of the pods when green, 
and put them in a vase where they are not 
disturbed, the pod will open part way, like an 
oyster-shell, and the fine silken threads, folded and 
packed so closely in the center, will fly apart and 
get out, in some way, so that after a while the pod 
will be covered with a cloud of white. This is very 
beautiful, and, if it stands in a corner out of the 
way of sudden breezes, it will be likely to remain 
so all winter. You now see why it is called silk- 

My sister and I yearly collected several of these 
silkweeds for our play-house by the stone-wall, 
where we kept our bits of broken china, and trans- 
formed the pods into domestic animals. Often, a 
pod would be well shaped for a chicken, requiring 
only feathers to be stuck into the poirited tail, and 
the stem to be broken off short at the other end and 
sharpened to represent the bill. Two sticks put in 
served for legs, so that it would rest on these and 
on the point of the tail. When we played that 
Thanksgiving Day had come, and wanted chick- 
ens for dinner, we had only to pull out the tail- 
feathers of a pair of " fowls," and, of course, take 
off their legs ; and, when they were ready for the 
table, instead of carving, we split open the pods, 
as you do those of the pea or bean, and behold ! 




there was the most tempting-looking "white " and 
" dark " meat within. The white meat was fibrous, 
like silk, and lay in the center ; over it were flat 
brown seeds, overlapping one another like the 
shingles on a house-roof, and making our " dark 

We not only transformed these pods into poultry, 
but also into quadrupeds of all sorts. Put in four 

legs, a pair of horns, and a tail, and you have 
your cow, and one, too, which really gives milk ! 
Leave off the horns, take a bit of your own hair to 
use for a tail, and you have a horse. 

But these are only a few hints, and I will let you 
experiment for yourself this season, and find out 
what you can do beyond this, in making animals 
and other figures. 


By Henry Clemens Pearson. 

It was ten o'clock in the morning. Every one 
in the factory was at work. The clicking and 
rattiing of the lighter machinery, the groaning of 
heavily laden shafts, the oily thud of hundreds of 
cogs, mingled in busy din. The huge engine 
sighed as, with its brawny arm of polished steel, it 
impelled the main shaft to turn the wheels of the 

Tom worked by the door, near the engine-room. 
He could, therefore, easily see the engine and all 
its surroundings. The interest of its rapid, cease- 
less motion partly reconciled him to the fact that, 
while most boys of thirteen were enjoying full lib- 
erty outside, he was shut up within doors. 

This morning, more than usually, he had been 
watching the forbidden splendors of the engine- 
room, for the engineer allowed no one in his sanc- 
tum. The great machine fascinated Tom with its 
easy grace of movement. His eyes dwelt long on 
the neat finish of the hexagonal bolt-heads that 
gleamed about the cylinder. He tried to tell, from 
his position, how full the glass oil-cups were, as 
they flashed to and fro on the polished arm ; and 
then his eyes rested on the fly-wheel that revolved 
so gracefully in its narrow prison. Only one-half 
of the wheel could he see at once, the other half 
being below the floor, almost filling a narrow, rock- 
lined cavity called the " pit." 

As Tom watched the whirling spokes, it seemed 
as if the mass of iron stood still, so swift was its 
motion. He remembered that once the engineer, 
seeing his interest in the machinery, had invited 
him in, and that he had stood leaning over the 
frail wooden guard, his face so close to the fly- 
wheel that the wind from its surface blew back his 
hair, while he looked down into the pit with wonder 
and dread. He remembered asking the engineer 
if he supposed any one could climb down there 
while the engine was in motion. The answer had 

come : ' ' There is n't a man in the factory that has 
nerve enough, even if there were room," — the 
space between the wheel and the wall being hardly 
a foot and a half in width. 

The boy's eyes next wandered from the object 
of his thoughts, and rested on the bright brass 
domes of the force-pumps that occupied a brick 
" settle " on one side of the room ; and then up to 
the maze of pipes that crossed and recrossed above 
the toiling machinery. 

Suddenly, glancing down, he saw a little child 
standing beneath the guard, close to the great fly- 

The engineer was nowhere in sight, and little 
May was his only child. Tom's heart gave a great 
leap. In an instant, he had scrambled down from 
his perch, and was in the engine-room. 

As he passed the door-way he was just in time to 
see the child toddle forward and fall into the pit ! 
With an awful shudder, he waited to see the mon- 
ster wheel spurn the baby-girl from its cruel sides ; 
but no such sight came. 

He dashed forward and looked into the pit. 
She sat on the hard, rocky bottom, sobbing softly 
to herself. The fall had not harmed her, yet 
she was still in great danger. Any attempt to 
move from her position would give the relentless 
wheel another chance. 

Tom slipped out of his brown "jumper," tore 
off his light shoes, and stood inside the guard. 
One eager look in the direction of the iron door 
through which the engineer would come, and then 
he began the descent. The great mass of iron 
whirled dizzily close to his eyes ; the inclined plane 
down which he was slowly sliding was covered deep 
with dust mingled with oil ; the thick, oily, damp 
air, fanned by the heavy breeze from the wheel, 
almost took his breath away. Where the curve of 
the wheel was nearest, it almost brushed his clothes. 



With his back pressed tight against the rocks, he 
slid down until his feet struck the bottom. And now 
came the worst part of the ordeal — the ponderous 
wheel, sweeping in giddy curves above him, so 
affected his nerves that his strength began to fail. 
There was one space where the wheel curved away 
from a corner, so he dropped on his knees there 
and for an instant shut his aching eyes. 

The child was in the other corner of the pit, 
sitting in an open space similar to that in which 
Tom knelt. As he looked past the terrible barrier, 
she made a movement as if to stand up. That 
brought back Tom's fleeing senses. If she should 

her face again with her little hands and sobbed 
harder than ever. Tom crept on until he came so 
near to the child that he could lay hold of her 
dress ; then he stopped. A strange, dizzy blur 
kept throwing a veil over his eyes, and he tried in 
vain to overcome a longing for sleep. He could 
feel the ceaseless whirl of the great wheel, and it 
made him almost wild. Curious vagaries and half- 
delirious fancies danced through his head. With 
an effort he threw them off, and, raising his face 
from the rocky couch, called for help. 

Instantly, a dozen mocking voices from the sides 
of the pit flung back the cry into his very ears. 


stand up, the wheel would strike her. Lying care- 
fully flat upon the bottom of the pit, he began 
slowly and cautiously to work his way beneath the 
mass of flying iron. He could feel the awful wind 
raising his hair as he crept along. Nearer and 
nearer he came to the child and nearer to the curve 
of the wheel. As he passed beneath it, an incau- 
tious movement and a sudden "burn" on his shoul- 
der showed that he had touched it. 

The little one had not seen him at all yet, as she 
had been sitting and rubbing her eyes, but she 
looked up now, and seeing the pale face streaked 
with oil and dust coming toward her, she covered 

But the wheel caught the cry, and whirled it away, 
up into the engine-room, in distorted echoes. He 
called again, and the sounds seemed less terrible. 
The little girl tried to get up, but he held to her 
white dress and soothed her the best he could. 

A moment later, he distinctly heard footsteps in 
the engine-room, then he felt that some one was 
looking into the pit, and then the clattering of the 
piston in the empty cylinder showed that the en- 
gine was soon to stop. 

Less swiftly, and at last slowly and more slowly, 
whirled Tom's massive jailer ; fainter and fainter 
came the clatter of the piston, until both ceased, 




and the engineer, with great beads of perspiration 
on his white forehead, swung himself between the 
harmless spokes of the fly-wheel and got down 
close to the two prisoners. 

" Is she hurt, Tom ? " he gasped. 

" No, sir," said Tom, faintly. " If you 'd only- 
stop the fly-wheel, I 'd lift her out." 

"It is stopped, my lad — it 's your dizzy head 
that deceives you. Let me take my little May." 

The engineer reached down and lifted his darling 
up from the dust, and, holding her fast on one arm, 
climbed out. 

Tom lay still. He did not seem to care, since the 
little one was safe and the fly-wheel had stopped. 
He felt a fearful weariness stealing over him. He 
would like to sleep a year. 

The engineer was by his side a moment later, 
asking if he was hurt. 

" No, sir, I think not; — only a little tired," said 
Tom, and slowly and wearily his eyes closed. 

Without another word, the strong man lifted him 
up from the rocky floor and its foul air, and, climb- 
ing again by the spokes of the fly-wheel, bore the 
boy out of his dungeon. The air from the open 
window soon cleared the " sleepiness " away, and 
he was able to tell the whole story. The engineer 
grasped his hand, but he could not speak, and 
there were tears in his eyes. 

Many were the words of praise from the sturdy 
workmen that crowded in from the " steel works" 
to see why the engine had stopped. Tom was the 
hero of the day. 

When the superintendent heard of it, he sent for 
a hack and had Tom taken home in style, with a 
comfortable little present in his pocket, and the 
permission to be out until he should feel all right 
again. It took about a week to clear the dizzy 
feeling entirely away, and at the end of that time 
he was working at his machine just as if he had 
never been under a fly-wheel. 

There was an old woman who lived by the sea, 

And she was as merry as merry could be. 

She did nothing but carol from morning till night, 

And sometimes she caroled by candle-light. 

She caroled in time and she caroled in tune, 

But none cared to hear save the man in the moon. 




(A Summer Grime /or Parlor, Picnic, or Lawn. ) 

Adapted by G. B. Bartlett. 

HIS fascinating game, which 
can be played by little 
children with great pleas- 
ure and profit, has capa- 
bilities well worthy of close 
attention from the wisest 
and keenest wits. It is a 
descendant of the old- 
fashioned Twenty-Ques- 
tion amusement, and was 
designed to do away with 
the objectionable points 
of it, and to introduce, 
at the same time, the in- 
terest of movement, which 
it lacked. All players of 
" Twenty Questions " will 
admit that it often be- 
comes dull through long 
delay in asking and an- 
swering questions, the sub- 
tleties of which seldom fail to provoke tedious argu- 
ment, sometimes ending in disagreeable disputes. 
The rules of this game wholly prevent delay or 
argument, and every player is kept busy all the time, 
instead of impatiently waiting for his turn to play. 
Six players are required for the game, but the 
more the better, as the number of camps is only 
limited by the size of the play-ground, and the 
number of contestants in each camp can vary from 
two to twenty. 

The best arrangement of rooms for this game, 
when played in-doors, is to find two rooms con- 
nected by a small hall, as it is better to have the 
camps out of ear-shot of each other. 

In mild weather, " Camps " makes an excellent 
outdoor game for country or sea-side, and 
picnic parties may be specially arranged for the 
purpose. These may be made picturesque by 
providing the different camps with bright flags, 
bearing some appropriate number or device, to 
designate each camp, and these the victors proudly 
wave in token of triumph. The embassadors 
also must be provided with white flags of truce, 
and the generals, or commanders, may wear bright 
scarfs, or rosettes, as badges of office. Lawn- 
tents may also be utilized as head-quarters, and 
these, with gay streamers and banners, will add 
liveliness to the effect. 

To begin the game, all meet and choose one 
general for each side. These two are to serve as 
umpires, for the immediate settlement of all dis- 
puted questions; and they, also, are to send out 
such embassadors as they think best, and to 
assume the whole management of their respective 
sides. They draw lots for the first choice of camps 
and followers, and each chooses, in turn, one person, 
until all the players are divided. The companies 
then march, with uplifted flags, to take possession 
of their respective camps, when all sit in compact 
groups around the generals. 

Each side, or rival camp, then sends out an 
embassador with a flag of truce ; these two persons 
meet midway between the two camps, which should 
be as far apart as possible, as it is important that 
the conversation should not be heard by the groups. 
These embassadors choose some object which can 
be definitely described, no matter how remote or 
obscure, from fact, history, or legend. As soon as 
the object is agreed upon, each embassador repairs 
to the camp opposed to the one from which he was 
sent, and announces, in a loud voice, the kingdom 
to which the object belongs, cither animal, mineral, 
or vegetable ; or, if composed of parts of these, he 
mentions that fact. He must then answer, with 
perfect clearness, all questions, as nearly as he can 
in their order, and as rapidly as possible, making 
no puns, equivocations, or unnecessary delays, 
which is pretty hard to do satisfactorily, as a deluge 
of questions is poured upon him from the excited 
players in wild confusion. The camp which first 
guesses the correct word claims as a prisoner the 
embassador from whom it was guessed, and also 
recalls the one sent out from it. 

The word chosen must have a definite designa- 
tion ; as, for instance, the first bean planted by 
Jack for his bean-stalk, the left ear of the Trojan 
horse, or the last or middle word in the Magna 
Charta, etc. 

New embassadors are sent forth with varying 
success, and as soon as one camp captures a pris- 
oner, its triumph is announced by loud clapping of 
hands and by waving of flags. Sometimes these 
sounds of victory arise almost simultaneously from 
both camps, in which case the question of prece- 
dence becomes a difficult one for the leaders to 
settle ; and, to avoid dispute, when the matter is in 
doubt, the decision may be made by drawing lots. 

74 8 



In a very large company, it is better to have an 
even number of camps, to arrange them in line 
opposite each other, and to have major-generals in 
command of the lines of camps, one on each side, 
the lines playing against each other. The heads 
of each line of camps work under the major-gen- 
eral of their own side, who may send reenforce- 
ments from one camp to another that is weakened 
by loss of embassadors. In these great games, it 
is best to play against time, and to consider as vic- 
torious the side that has the most men at the expi- 
ration of an hour, or whatever time may be fixed by 
the major-generals for the duration of the contest. 

In a small game of only two camps, the victory 
rests with the camp which has taken all the players, 
excepting the leader, from the opposing camp. It 
often happens that a camp is reduced to but two 

players, and, since one must go as an embassador, 
only one remains to guess the word ; but, if he is 
skillful, his camp slowly grows, until, one by one, 
he succeeds in winning at the last by capturing all 
his adversaries. 

Now and then, among older and more practiced 
players, it may be found an interesting variation 
to prohibit the asking of any question that can not 
be answered by saying only " yes" or " no." 

The most out-of-the-way and curious objects are 
often guessed by experienced players in a few mo- 
ments, and, as both sides are always kept actively 
at work, the fun never flags, for the prisoners are 
welcomed with the wildest enthusiasm by the con- 
querors. Captured embassadors must give their 
best efforts to their conquerors, so that party strife 
may be prevented and harmony may prevail. 





By Celia Thaxter. 

In the winged cradle of sleep I lay 

My darling gently down ; 
Kissed and closed are his eyes of gray, 

Under his curls' bright crown. 

Where, oh where, will he fly and float, 
In the winged cradle of sleep ? 

Whom will he meet in the worlds remote, 
While he slumbers soft and deep ? 

Warm and sweet as a white blush rose, 
His small hand lies in mine, 

But I can not follow him where he goes, 
And he gives no word nor sign. 

Keep him safe, ye heavenly powers, 

In dream-land vast and dim ! 
Let no ill, through the night's long hours, 

Come nigh to trouble him. 

Give him back, when the dawn shall break, 
With his matchless baby charms. 

With his love and his beauty all awake, 
Into my happy arms ! 

By Anna T. Randall-Diehl. 

I am over on the next page. 

Do you know what I am ? Cover up my head 
and I know you will say I am a dog, with long, 
shaggy hair, just because I hate dogs ! Cover up 
all but my head, and you will say I am a cat. 

Would you like to hear my story ? 

When I was a wee white kitten, away off in the 
interior of Asia, a gentleman came and told my 
mother that he wanted two of her little ones to 
carry to America, a country quite on the other 
side of the world. My mother was at first very 
unwilling to part with us, but the gentleman soon 
won her over by telling how pretty we were, how 
long was our soft, white fur, and how we should be 
admired by everybody in that far-off land. 

I wanted my mother to say yes, for I longed to 
see the world, and to go to a place where I should 
have so much attention paid me. I was only a 
kitten then, and I trust ail my vanity has disap- 
peared with my youth. 

At last my mother consented, and after giving us 
much good advice about keeping our eyes and ears 
open, and making us promise to be kind and 
loving to each other, and never, never to forget 
her, she mewed an affectionate farewell. 

In honor of our dear native home, Angora, the 
kind gentleman gave me the name of Angie, and 
called my companion Gora. 

How do you think we traveled ? We were 

placed in a basket, which was slung upon the side 
of a camel. The camel is a queer creature. He 
goes jolting forward and backward, and whoever 
rides upon his back goes up and down, up and 
down, until he is shaken almost into jelly. Some- 
body has called the camel "the ship of the desert," 
because he carries the treasures over the sandy 
waste ; but Gora and I thought he was rightly 
named from another cause, for we were as sea-sick 
as afterward we became upon the ocean. Having 
crossed the desert and arrived at the coast, we were 
placed in a box on shipboard, where we had a little 
more room, but still we were not very comfortable. 

Our companions on the voyage were several 
hundred cashmere goats, only interesting to us 
because they, too, were brought from our old 
home, Angora. They were always hooking and 
kicking each other, and when they organized a 
concert, their music was hideous. 

Week after week passed, and many and many a 
time I wished myself safely back within reach of 
my mother's paw. Gora would often look at me 
pitifully, and then burst into a prolonged mew. 
That went to my heart like a dagger ; for when I 
had begged our mother to let us go, poor Gora had 
set up her voice against it. At last we landed in 
California, and our life in the new world began. 

For several months we lived in the city of San 
Francisco. It all seemed new and strange, yet 




we were glad of at least one thing : while the 
people talked so queerly that we could not under- 
stand a word, the cats, dogs, horses, and mules of 
America used the very same language that those 
of Asia use. It is strange that cats should have 
an advantage over men, but they seem to, in 
speech. My master studied a great many lan- 
guages, — he had to have a different one for nearly 
every land he visited, — but we cats have a universal 
tongue the wide world over. 

After a while, we were again put in a box and 
carried upon shipboard ; but this time the journey 
was short, and in a few weeks we landed in the 
great city of New York. What a noise ! what a 
confusion of noises ! Here we were soon taken to 
a very pretty house, and Gora was decked with a 
pink ribbon, tied around her neck, while I wore a 
blue one. We frolicked and played to our hearts' 
content, only Master never would let us go out-of- 
doors — not even into the back yard — without hav- 
ing somebody to lead us, for he said we were each 
worth more than a hundred dollars in gold, and 
somebody might be prowling about to steal us 

Then came the sad day when Gora went to 
Washington, and I was left alone. 

I had not long to be lonely, though, for in a 
little while Mr. Barnum came, and invited me to 
spend a little time at his great museum. I became 
a member of his "Happy Family"; but I shall 
not tell the professional secret of how I — who 
always had a keen tooth for a bit of fresh meat — 
learned to let, a canary perch upon my head, white 
mice run over my paws, and a rabbit sit by my 
side, without an attempt to eat any of them. 

We were a queer cage-full, and for many months 
crowds of people came to see us. But, one day, 
some good angel must have whispered to my 
master to take me away. That very night, when 
I was safely sleeping upon a cushion at the foot of 
his bed, the museum caught fire. Oh, how the 
lions and tigers roared ! and how the poor mon- 
keys chattered ! But there was no escape for any 
of them. Nearly all the animals, including every 
one of my companions of the "Happy Family," 
were burned to cinders. 

I heard Master read it all in the newspapers the 
next morning, and I purred about him, and rubbed 
my head against his hand, by way of thanking him 
for saving my life. 

Soon after this escape, I started for Washington 
to make Gora a visit, and upon this journey a sad 
thing befell me. As the distance was not very great, 
my master did not put me in a box, but carried me 
in his arms. While our cars were stopping at a 
station, another train, with its fiery engine at its 
head, went thundering by ; I was frightened quite 

out of my wits at its sudden appearance, and as 
the window was open, I sprang out and started for 
the nearest woods. My poor master, who had 
brought me so many miles by land and sea, felt so 
bad that he stopped at the next town and offered 
twenty dollars reward for my recovery. 

Twenty dollars ! 

Whew ! Was n't every boy in town upon the 
search ? while many people said : 

" What a silly man ! No cat in all the world is 
worth so much ! " 

You should have seen the lucky fellow who 


caught me. Did n't his eyes sparkle when the 
crisp bank-note was put into his hand ! 

So I reached Washington safely, after all, but 
not in time to see my darling Gora. A few days 
before, she had been suddenly taken ill, and 
although she was dosed with cat-mint and care- 
fully nursed, the disease proved fatal. 

I can not tell you how I mourned over my lost 
sister. For a long time I mewed all day and 
howled at night with uncontrollable grief. 

But my story is already too long for your 
patience. I am now an old cat, and have jour- 
neyed over a great part of the world. Such an 
aversion have I to any more traveling that, when- 
ever a wooden box is brought into the room, I 
fancy that I am again to be sent upon a journey, 
and I retreat under the sofa, thrust my claws into 
the carpet, and cling there for dear life. 




Bv Mary C. Bartlett. 

It was "writing afternoon," — said Miss Jenkins, — 
and my scholars were new. If you had ever been a 
teacher, my dear, you would realize what the com- 
bination of those two simple facts implies — the 
weariness of body and the utter vexation of spirit. 
First, there 's the holding of the pen. If there 's 
one thing more than another in which scholars 
exhibit their own originality, it is in managing a 
pen-holder. I 've counted one-and-forty different 
ways, among as many boys, more than once — 
each separate way quite different from what I had 
taught them five minutes before. 

Then, the ink : To some it was simply ink, 
nothing more. To others it seemed an irresistible 
tempter, whispering of unique designs, grotesque 
or otherwise, to be worked out upon desk or 
jacket, or perhaps upon the back of one small 

Well, upon the afternoon of which I am going 
to tell you, I had had more correcting to do than 
usual, for some of the scholars were stupid, and 
could n't do as I wished ; and others were careless, 
and did n't try. What with the looking, and stoop- 
ing, and continual showing, I felt my patience 
giving way, and when I saw that three of the 
largest boys had left the page upon which they 
should have been practicing, and were making 
"unknown characters" in different parts of their 
books, I lost it utterly. 

"That I will not have," said I, sharply. "I 
will punish any boy who makes a mark upon any 
but the lesson-page." 

They were very still for a while. Nothing was 
heard but the scratch, scratching of the pens, and 
the sound of my footsteps as I walked up and 
down the aisles. Involuntarily, I found myself 
studying the hands before me as if they had been 
faces. There was Harry Sanford's, large and 
plump, but flabby withal, and not over clean. 
His "n's" stood weakly upon their legs, seeming 
to feel the need of other letters to prop them up. 

Walter Lane's, red and chapped, with short, 
stubbed fingers, nails bitten off to the quick, had 
yet a certain air of sturdy dignity; and his "n's," 
if not handsome, were certainly plain, and looked 
as if they knew their place, and meant to keep it, 

Tommy Silver's, long and limp, besmeared 
with ink from palm to nail, vainly strove to keep 
time with a tongue which wagged, uncertainly, 

this way and that, and which should have been 
red, but was black, like the fingers. His "n's" 
had neither form nor comeliness, and might have 
stood for " v's," or even " x's," quite as well. 

Then there was Hugh Bright's hand, hard and 
rough with work, holding the pen as if it never 
meant to let it go ; but his " n's " were " n's," and 
could by no possible chance be mistaken for any- 
thing else. 

At length I came to Frank Dunbar's desk — dear 
little Frank, who had been a real help and comfort 
to me since the day when he bashfully knocked at 
my door, with books and slate in hand. His hand 
was white and shapely ; fingers spotless, nails im- 
maculate, and his "n's" — but what was it that 
sent a cold chill over me as I looked at them ? 
Ah, my dear, if I should live a thousand years, I 
could never tell you how I felt when I found that 
Frank Dunbar had written half a dozen letters 
upon the opposite page of his copy-book ! 

" Why, Frank," said I, " how did that happen ? " 

"I did it." 

" You did it before I spoke ? " said I, clinging to 
a forlorn hope. 

" No, 'm; I did it afterward. I forgot." 

" Oh, Frank ! my good, good boy ! How could 
you ? Don't you see that I shall have to punish 
you ? " 

" Yes, 'm," — the brave blue eyes looking calmly 
up into my face. 

"Very well; you may go to the desk." 

He went, and I walked the aisles again, — up and 
down, up and down, giving a caution here or a 
word of advice there, but not knowing, in the least, 
what I was about. My thoughts were all with the 
flaxen-haired culprit, who stood bravely awaiting 
his penalty. 

Vainly I strove to listen to my inward monitor. 
It seemed suddenly to have become two-voiced, — 
the one tantalizing, the other soothing, — and, of 
course, the tones were conflicting. 

" You must punish him," said one. 

" You must n't," said another. 

"He deserves it." 

"He does n't." 

" He disobeyed you flatly." 

" But he forgot — and he has always been so 

"But you promised. You have given your 
word. Here are thirty boys to whom you should 




be an example. Do you think they are not watch- 
ing you ? Look at them ! " 

I did look at them. Walter Lane's sharp black 
eyes and Harry Sanford's sleepy orbs were fixed 
curiously upon me. Nor were these all. Gray 
eyes, blue eyes, hazel and brown eyes, — all were 
regarding me intently ; I almost fancied that they 
looked at me pityingly. I could not bear it. 

" Attend to your writing, boys." Then I walked 
slowly up to the desk. 

" You see how it is," said the troublesome voice. 
" You will certainly have to punish him." 

But I had thought of a possible plan of escape. 
"Frank," said I, "you have been disobedient, 
and — you know what I said, but — you are such a 
good boy that I can not bear to punish you — not in 
that way, I mean. You may go to the foot of your 
class instead." 

"I'd rather take the whipping." The honest, 
upturned face was very sober, but betrayed not the 
least sign of fear, nor was there the slightest sus- 
picion of a tremble in the clear, childish voice. 

" Bless your brave little heart," thought I. " Of 
course you would ! I might have known it, " and 
again I walked the aisles, up and down, thinking, 

" You will have to do it," repeated the voice. 
" There is no other way." 

" I can not, — oh, I can't," I groaned, half aloud. 

" The good of the school requires it. You must 
sacrifice your own feeling and his." 

" Sacrifice his feelings ! Loyal little soul ! — good 
as gold, and true as steel." 

" No matter, you must do it." 

"/ wont I n 

I walked quickly to the desk, and struck the bell. 
The children looked wonderingly. " Listen to me, 
boys," said I. " You all know that Frank Dunbar 
is one of our best scholars." 

" Yes 'm, yes'm!" came from all parts of the 
room, but two or three of the larger boys sat silent 
and unsympathetic. 

" You know how ambitious he is in school, and 
what a little gentleman, always." 

"Yes'm. That's so. We know." Only two 
unsympathetic faces now ; but one of them, that of 
a sulky boy in the corner, looked as if its owner 
were mentally saying : " Can't think what you 're 
driving at, but I '11 never give in — never." 

" You all know how brave he was when Joe 
Willis dropped his new knife between the boards 
of that unfinished building on Corliss street. How 
he did what no other boy in school would do — let 

himself down into the cellar, and groped about in 
the dark until he found it for him." 

" We know that — yes 'm. Hurrah for " 

" Stop a minute. One thing more." 

Sulky-boy's companion was shouting with the 
rest, and Sulky-boy's own face had relaxed. 

" You all know," said I, " how he took care of 
Willie Randall when Willie hurt himself upon the 
ice. How he drew him home upon his own sled, 
going very slowly and carefully that poor Willie 
might not be jolted, and making himself late to 
school in consequence." 

" Yes 'm. Yes, ma'am. Hoo-ray for little Dun- 
bar ! " Sulky-boy was smiling now, and I knew 
that my cause was won. 

" Very well," said I. "Now let us talk about 
to-day. He has disobeyed me, and — of course I 
ought to punish him." 

" No 'm, you ought n't. Don't punish him ! We 
don't want him whipped ! " 

" But I have given my word. It will be treating 
you all unfairly if I break it. He has been such 
a good, true, faithful boy that I should like very 
much to forgive him, but I can not do it unless 
you are all willing." 

" We 're willing. We '11 give you leave. We '11 
forgive him. We '11 " 

" Stop ! I want you to think of it carefully for 
a minute. I am going to leave the matter alto- 
gether with you. I shall do just as you say. If, 
at the end of one minute by the clock, you are sure 
you forgive him, raise your hands." 

My dear, you should have seen them ! If ever 
there was expression in human hands, I saw it 
in theirs that day. Such a shaking and snapping 
of fingers, and an eager waving of small palms, — 
breaking out at last into a hearty, simultaneous 
clapping, and Sulky-boy's the most demonstrative 
of all ! 

"Disorderly," do you say? Well, perhaps it 
was. We were too much in earnest to think of 
that. I looked at Frank. His blue eyes were 
swimming in tears, which he would not let fall. 

As for me, I turned to the blackboard, and put 
down some examples in long division. If I had 
made all the divisors larger than the dividends, or 
written the numerals upside down, it would not 
have been at all strange, in the circumstances. 

And the moral of this — concluded Miss Jenkins 
(she had just been reading "Alice in Wonder- 
land ") — is that a teacher is human, and a human 
being does n't always know just what to do. 


By M. M. D. 


Perched on a stool of the fairy style, 

An elf-boy worked with a mischievous smile. 

"That careless spider!" said he, "to leave 

His web unfinished ! But I can sew : 

I '11 spin, or sew, or darn, or weave — 

Whatever they call it — so none will know 

That his spidership did n't complete it himself, 

Or I 'ma very mistaken young elf ! " 

Well, the wee sprite sewed, or wove, or spun, 
Plying his brier and gossamer thread; 
And, quick as a ripple, the web, all done, 

Vol. VIII.— 48. 

Was softly swaying against his head 

As he laughed and nodded in joyful pride. 

Ho ! ho ! it 's done ! 

Ha! ha! what fun! 
And then he felt himself slowly slide — 
Slide and tumble — stool and all — 
In the prettiest sort of a fairy fall! 
Up he jumped, as light as air; 
But oh, what a sight, 
What a sorry plight — 
The web was caught in his sunny hair! 
When, pres/o ! on sudden invisible track, 




That horrible spider came lumbering back 
"Who's been at my web? What 

Come on !" 
And he knotted for fight, 
The horrid fright ! 
But the elf was gone — 
Poor, frightened fay ! 
Nothing was seen but a tattered sheen, 
Trailing and shining upon the green. 

But all that night, with dainty care, 
HO ! An elf sat tugging away at his hair. 

And 't is whispered in Elf-land to this day 
That any spider under the sun 
May go and leave his web undone, 
With its filmy thread-end swinging free 
Or tied to the tip of a distant tree, 
With never a fear that elfin-men 
Will meddle with spider-work again. 


By Rossiter Johnson. 

Chapter XVII. 
how a church flew a kite. 

As SOON as possible, Phaeton went down town 
with his drawing in his pocket, and hunted up the 
office of the chief-engineer. This, he found, was 
in the engine-house of Deluge One, — a carpeted 
room, nearly filled with arm-chairs, having at one 
end a platform, on which were a sofa and an 
octagonal desk. The walls were draped with 
flags, and bore several mottoes, among which were 
"Ever Ready," "Fearless and Free," and "The 
Path of Duty is the Path of Glory." Under the 
last was a huge silver trumpet, hung by a red cord, 
with large tassels. 

This was the room where the business meetings 
of Deluge One were held, and where the chief- 
engineer had his office. But the young men who 
were now playing cards and smoking here told 
Phaeton the chief-engineer was not in, but might 
be found at Shumway's. 

This was a large establishment for the manu- 
facture of clothing, and when Phaeton had finally 
hunted down his man, he found him to be a 
cutter, — one of several who stood at high tables 
and cut out garments for the other tailors to make. 

"I 've come to consult you about a machine," 
said Phaeton. 

"How did you happen to do that?" said the 

" A friend of mine — a railroad man — advised me 
to," said Phaeton. 

" Clever fellers, them railroad men," said the 
chief-engineer; "but what 's your machine for?" 

"For putting out fires," said Phaeton. 

"One of them gas arrangements, I suppose," 
said the chief-engineer, — "dangerous to the lives 
of the men, and no good unless it 's applied in a 
close room before the fire begins." 

" I don't know what you mean by that," said 
Phaeton; "but there 's no gas about mine." 

The chief-engineer, who all this time had gone 
on cutting, laid down his shears on the pattern. 

" Let 's see it," said he. 

Phaeton produced his drawing, spread it out 
before him, and explained it. 

"Why, boy," said the chief-engineer, "you 
could n't — and yet, perhaps, you could — it never 
would — and still it might — there would be no — but 
I 'm not so sure about that. Let me study this 

He planted his elbows on the table, each side of 
the drawing, brought his head down between his 
hands, buried his fingers in the mass of his hair, 
and looked intently at the picture for some min- 

" Where did you get this ? " said he, at last. 

" I drew it," said Phaeton ; "it 's my invention." 

" And what do you want me to do about it ? " 

" I thought, perhaps, you could help me in get- 
ting it into use." 

"Just so! Well, leave it with me, and I '11 
think it over, and you can call again in a few days." 

Phaeton did call again, and was told that the 
chief-engineer was holding a meeting in the engine- 
house. Going over to the engine-house, he found 
it full of men, and was unable to get in. The 
next time he called, the chief-engineer told him he 
"had n't had time to look it over yet." Next 
time, he was "not in." And so it seemed likely 
to go on forever. 

But meanwhile something else took place, which 
called out Phaeton's inventive powers in another 

It happened that the pastor of the Baptist church, 
in talking to the Sunday-school, dwelt especially 
on Sabbath-breaking, and mentioned kite-flying as 
one form of it. 

"This very day," said he, "as I was coming to 

Copyright, 1880, by Rossiter Johnson. All rights reserved. 




church, I saw three wicked boys flying kites in the 
public street, and one of them sits in this room 

A boy who knew whom the pastor referred to, 
pointed out Monkey Roe. 

As many of the school as could, turned and 
stared at Monkey. The truth was, he had not 
been flying a kite ; but on his way to church he 
passed two boys who were. It was the universal 
practice — at that time and in that country, at least 
— when a boy was flying a kite, for every other 
boy who passed to ask "how she pulled?" and 
then he generally would take the string in his 
hand a moment to see. 

If she pulled hard, the flyer was rather proud to 
have his friends ask the question and make the test. 
In fact, I suppose it would hardly have been polite 
not to ask. 

Monkey had just asked this interesting question, 
and had the string in his hand, when the pastor 
happened to pass by and see the group. Of course 
it would have been well if he could have stood up 
in the Sunday-school, and simply told the fact. 
But he was not the sort of boy who could do such 
a thing, at any time, and he was especially unable 
to now, when he was taken by surprise and felt that 
an outrage had been committed against his charac- 
ter and reputation. 

But perhaps the pastor was not much at fault. 
He had probably been born and brought up in a 
breezeless country where kite-flying was unknown, 
and therefore was ignorant of its amenities. 

Just before the school closed, Monkey was struck 
with a mischievous idea. 

" I prophesy," said he to the pastor's son, who 
sat next to him, " that this church will fly a kite all 
day next Sunday." 

"I should be delighted to see it," said the pas- 
tor's son. 

Early Monday morning, Monkey went over to 
Dublin, and found Owney Geoghegan, who had 
chased and found one of the kites that drew Phae- 
ton's machine. Monkey obtained the kite, by 
trading a jack-knife for it, and carried it home. 
Every day that week, as soon as school was out, he 
took it to a large common on the outskirts of the 
town, and flew it. He thoroughly studied the dis- 
position of that kite. He experimented continually, 
and found just what arrangement of the bands 
would make it pull most evenly, just what length 
of tail would make it stand most steadily, and just 
what weight of string it would carry best. 

It occurred to him that an appropriate motto 
from Scripture would look well, and he applied to 
Jack-in-the-Box for one, taking care not to let him 
know- what he wanted it for. Jack suggested one, 
and Monkey borrowed a marking-pot and brush, 

and inscribed it in bold letters across the face of the 

Finally he procured a good ball of string, a long 
and strong fish-line, and a small, flat, light wooden 
hoop, which he covered with tin-foil, obtained at 
the tobacco-shop. 

Saturday night, Monkey's mother knew he was 
out, but not what he was about, and wondered why 
he staid so late. If she had gone in search of 
him, she might have found him in Independence 
Square, moving about in a very mysterious man- 
ner. The Baptist church, which had a tall, slender 
spire, ending in a lightning-rod with a single point, 
faced this square. 

It was a bright, moonlight night, and it must 
have been after eleven o'clock when Monkey- 
walked into the square with his kite, accompanied 
by Owney Geoghegan. 

Monkey laid the kite flat on the ground near one 
corner of the square, stationed Owney by it, and 
then walked slowly to the opposite corner, unwind- 
ing the string as he went. 

After looking around cautiously and making sure 
that nobody was crossing the square, he raised his 
hand and gave a silent signal. Owney hoisted the 
kite, Monkey ran a few r rods, and up she went. He 
rapidly let out the entire ball of string, and she 
sailed away into space till she hovered like a night- 
hawk over the farthest corner of the sleeping city. 

The Sunday-school room was hung round with 
mottoes, printed on shield-shaped tablets, and 
Monkey had made copies of some of them on , 
similarly shaped pieces of paper, which he fastened 
upon the string at intervals as he let the kite up. 
Among them I remember " Look aloft ! " " Time 
flies ! " and " Aspire ! " 

Then Monkey took up the hoop, and tied the 
string through a hole that was bored near one edge. 
Through a similar hole on the opposite side of the 
hoop, and near the same edge, he tied about a yard 
of comparatively weak string. To the end of this 
he tied his long fish-line, which he carefully paid 
out. The kite sailed still higher and farther away, 
of course carrying the hoop up into mid-air, where 
it was plainly visible as the tin-foil glittered in the 

So far. Monkey's task had all been plain mechan- 
ical work, sure of success if only performed with 
care. But now he had arrived at the difficult part 
of it, where a great amount of patience and no lit- 
tle sleight-of-hand were necessary. The thing to 
be done was, to let out just enough string for the 
kite to carry the hoop exactly as high as the top of 
the steeple. 

It took a vast deal of letting out, and winding in, 
walking forward, and walking backward, to accom- 
plish this, but at last it seemed to be done. Then 




he must walk back and forth till he had brought 
the hoop not only on a level with the top of the 
spire, but directly over it, which took more time. 
As the strings were fastened at one edge of the 
hoop, of course it remained constantly horizontal. 
When, at last, Monkey had brought it exactly 
over the point of the lightning- 
rod, he slowly, carefully, 
and very steadily 

lowered the 
hand in which 
he held the 
string down to the ground. The 
hoop encircled and slid down 
the rod, and, after two hours' 
hard work, his task was virtu- 
ally done. He had now only 
to walk up to the church, and 
give a steady, hard, downward 
pull at the fish-line, when the 
weak piece of string that 
fastened it to the hoop 
snapped in two. Winding 
up the fish-line, he slipped 
it into his pocket, said 
good-night to Owney, 
walked silently home, 
and went to bed. 

Sunday morning had 
dawned beautifully, and 
everybody in town, who 
ever went to church at 
all, prepared for church. 
As the time for services 
approached, the bells 
rang out melodiously ; 
down every street, door 
after door opened, as 
individuals and families stepped forth, attired in 
their best, and soon the sidewalks were full of peo- 
ple passing in every direction. 

Somebody discovered the kite, and pointed it 
out to somebody else, who stopped to look at it, 
and attracted the attention of others ; and thus the 
news spread. 

A few groups paused to gaze and wonder, but 
most of the people passed on to their respective 

Somebody told the Baptist pastor of it as he was 
ascending the pulpit stairs. 

" I '11 have it attended to," said he ; and, calling 
the sexton, he ordered him to go at once and take 
it down. 

Easy to say, but impossible to do. The highest 
point the sexton could reach was a good distance 

below the top of the spire, and once there, he could 
only poke his head out at a little trap-door. The 
appearance of his head at this 
door was the signal for a derisive 
shout from a group of 

boys on the 
By the time the services 
in the various churches were over, 
and the people on their way home, 
nearly everybody in town had heard of 
the phenomenon. They gathered in 
small groups, and gazed at it, and talked 
about it. These groups continually grew 
larger, and frequently two or three of them coa- 
lesced. They soon found that the best point to 
view it from — considering the position of the sun, 
and other circumstances — was the south-west cor- 
ner of the square ; and here they gradually gath- 
ered, till there was a vast throng, with upturned 
faces, gazing at the kite and its appendages, and 
wondering how it got there. 

It was amusing to hear the wild conjectures and 
grave theories that were put forth. 

One man thought it must have been an accident. 
" Probably some boy in a neighboring town," he 
said, "was flying the kite, when it broke away, 
and, as the string dragged along, it happened to 
catch on that steeple." 

Another said he had read that in China grown-up 
people flew kites, and were very expert at it. 
"Depend upon it," said he, "you '11 find there 's 
a Chinaman in town." 

Another presumed it was some new and ingen- 
ious method of advertising. " Probably at a cer- 
tain hour," said he, "that thing will burst, and 
scatter over the town a shower of advertisements 
of a hew baking-powder, warranted to raise your 
bread as high as a kite, or some other humbug." 

Still another sagacious observer maintained that 
it might be merely an optical illusion, — a thing 
having no real existence. " It may be a mirage," 
said he ; " or perhaps some practical joker has 
made a sort of magic-lantern that projects such an 
image in mid-air." 

Patsy Rafterty happened to see a lady sitting at 
her window, and looking at the kite through an 
opera-glass. Immediately he was struck with an 
idea, and ran off home at his best speed. His 
mother was out visiting a neighbor; but he did n't 
need to call her home ; he knew where she kept 
his money. 

Going straight to the pantry, he climbed on a 
chair and took down what in its day had been an 
elegant china tea-pot, but was now useless, because 




the spout was broken oft". Thrusting in his hand, 
he drew out the money which the clown had col- 
lected for him from the crowd on the tow-path, — 
every cent of it, excepting the crossed shilling, the 
bogus quarter, the brass buttons, and the temper- 
ance medal. Then he ran to a pawnbroker's shop, 
before which he had often stood and studied the 
"unredeemed pledges" there displayed. 

The pawnbroker, whose Sabbath was the sev- 
enth day, sat in the open door, smoking a pipe. 

"How much for a spy-glass?" said Patsy, as 
soon as he could get his breath. 

"Come inside," said the pawnbroker. "This 
one I shall sell you for five dollars — very cheap." 
And he handed Patsy an old binocular, which 
really had very powerful glasses, though the tubes 
were much battered. Patsy pointed the instru- 
ment outdoors, and looked through it. 

" Oh, Moses ! " said he, as a dog larger than an 
elephant ran across the field of vision. 

" Sir? " said the pawnbroker. 

"I can't buy it," said Patsy, with a sigh, laying 
it upon the counter. 

"Why not?" said the pawnbroker. 

" I have n't enough money," said Patsy. 

"How much you have got?" said the pawn- 

"Three dollars and eighty-four cents." 

"And you don't get some more next Saturday 
night ? " said the pawnbroker. 

"No," said Patsy. 

"Well, you are a good boy," said the pawn- 
broker; "I can see that already; so I shall sell 
you this fine glass for three dollars and eighty-four 
cents, — the very lowest price. I could not do it, 
but I hope that I trade with you again some day." 

Patsy put down the money in a hurry, took the 
glass, and left the shop. 

He went to where the crowd was gazing at the 
kite, took a long look at it himself, and then 
began renting out the glass at ten cents a look, at 
which price he found plenty of eager customers. 

When they looked through the glass, they read 
this legend on the face of the kite : 

~Ye sVvtvW. \\.cv^-e vw. tCViowv'vwtv- 

Levit. xi., 13, 14. 

When Teddy Dwyer saw the success of Patsy's 
speculation, he thought he also had an idea, and 
running home, he soon re-appeared on the square 
with a large piece of newly smoked glass. But 
nobody seemed to care to view the wonder through 
smoked glass, though he offered it at the low price 
of "wan cent a look," and Teddy's investment was 
hardlv remunerative. 

Patsy, before the day was over, amassed nearly 
thirteen dollars. He carried it all home, and, with- 
out saying anything to his mother, slipped it into 
the disabled tea-pot, where the money collected for 
him by the clown had been kept. 

The next day he quietly asked his mother if he 
might have ten cents of his money to spend. 

"No, Patsy," she answered, "I 'm keeping that 
ag'in the day you go into business." 

But Mrs. Rourke was present, and she pleaded 
so eloquently Patsy's right to have " a little enjoy- 
ment of what he had earned," that his mother 
relented, and went to get it. 

"Either my hands are getting weak," said she, 
as she lifted it down, "or this tea-pot has grown 

She thrust her hand into it, uttered an exclama- 
tion of surprise, and then turned it upside down 
upon the table, whereupon there was a tableau in 
the Rafferty family. 

"I often heard," said Mrs. Rafferty, "that 
money breeds money, but I never knew it bred so 
fast as that." 

She more than half believed in fairies, and was 
proceeding to account for it as their work, when 
Patsy burst out laughing, and then, of course, had 
to tell the story of how the money came there. 

"And so you got it be goin' after pawnbrokers, 
and be workin' on Sunday ? " said his mother. 

Patsy confessed that he did. 

" Then I '11 have none of it," said she, and open- 
ing the stove, was about to cast in a handful of the 
coins, when she hesitated. 

"After all," said she, " 't is n't the money that's 
done wrong ; why should I punish it ? " 

So she put it back into the tea-pot, and adopted 
a less expensive though more painful method of 
teaching her son to respect the Sabbath. 

In the bitterness of the moment, Patsy firmly 
resolved that when he was a millionaire — as he 
expected to be some day — he would n't give his 
mother a single dime. He afterward so far re- 
lented, however, as to admit to himself that he 
might let her have twenty thousand dollars, rather 
than see her suffer, but not a cent more. 

Chapter XVIII. 


Deacon Graham had predicted that "the wind 
would go down with the sun," and then the kite 
would fall. But the prediction was not fulfilled; 
at least there seemed to be a steady breeze up 
where the kite was, and in the moonlighted even- 
ing it swayed gently to and fro, tugging at its 




string, and gracefully waving its pendulous tail. 
All the young people in town appeared to be walk- 
ing out to see it, and the evening services were very 
slimly attended. 

Monday morning, the trustees of the church 
began to take vigorous measures for the suppression 
of the mysterious kite. 

The cart of Hook and Ladder No. i was wheeled 
up in front of the church, and the longest two 
ladders taken off, spliced together, and raised with 
great labor. But they fell far short of reaching any 
point from which the hoop that held the kite could 
be touched. 

" I hope you are satisfied," said the foreman 
of the Hook-and-Ladder company to the trustees. 
"I told you them ladders would n't reach it, nor 
no others that you can get." 

"Yes, I see," said Deacon Graham. "I sup- 
posed the ladders were longer. But we 're very 
much obliged to you and your men." 

"You're welcome," said the foreman, as the 
men replaced the ladders on the cart. "And by 
the way, Deacon, if you was thinking of sending a 
dish of oysters and a cup of coffee around to the 
engine-house, I may say that my men prefer Sad- 
dle-rocks and Java." 

" Just so ! " said the Deacon. "I '11 send 
Saddle-rocks and Java, if I send any." 

One of the trustees suggested that the most 
muscular of the firemen might go up in the steeple, 
open the little trap-door, and from there throw- 
clubs at the string. 

One of the firemen procured some sticks, about 
such as boys like for throwing into chestnut-trees, 
and went up and tried it. But the door was so far 
below the top of the steeple, and the position so 
awkward to throw from, that he did not even hit 
the string, and after one of the clubs in descending 
had crashed through the stained-glass sky-light of 
a neighboring mansion, this experiment was aban- 

The next plan brought forward consisted in 
firing with rifles at the kite, the hoop, and the 
string. The trustees looked up two amateur 
huntsmen for this purpose. 

As there was a city ordinance against discharg- 
ing fire-arms " in any street, lane, or alley, park, 
or square of the said city," the trustees were obliged 
to go first to the mayor and get a suspension of 
the ordinance for this special purpose, which was 
readily granted. 

As soon as the two huntsmen saw this in black 
and white, they fired half a dozen shots. But they 
did not succeed in severing the string or smashing 
the hoop. Like all failures, however, they gave 
excellent reasons for their want of success, explain- 
ing to the trustees that there was a difference 

between a covey of partridges and a small hoop 
on the top of a steeple. Their explanation was 
so lucid that I feel confident the trustees under- 
stood it. 

"In rifle-shooting," added one of the huntsmen, 
" you always have to make allowance for the wind, 
and we can't tell how it may be blowing at the top 
of that spire till we learn by experimental shots. 
But we shall get the range after a while ; it 's only 
a question of time." 

What little ammunition they had with them was 
soon exhausted, and Deacon Graham, who was 
very excitable and oversensitive as to anything 
connected with the church, rushed down town to 
buy some more. 

"How much powder will you have?" said the 

"Enough to shoot a kite off from a steeple," said 
the Deacon. 

The clerk could n't tell how much that would 
take — had not been in the habit of selling powder 
for that purpose. 

" Give me enough, then, at any rate," said the 

The clerk suggested that the best way would be 
to send up a small keg and let them use as much 
as was necessary, the remainder to be returned. 
To this the Deacon assented, and accordingly a 
small keg of powder, with a liberal quantity of 
bullets and caps, was sent up at once, — all to be 
charged to the account of the church. 

At the first shot, the boys had begun to gather. 
When they found what was going on, that the 
ordinance was suspended, and that ammunition 
was as free as the gospel, they disappeared one 
after another, and soon re-appeared, carrying all 
sorts of shot-guns, muskets, and even horse-pistols 
and revolvers. No boy who could get a fire-arm 
failed to bring it out. Most of us had to hunt for 
them ; for, as far as I know, not one of our boys 
was guilty of the folly of habitually carrying a pis- 
tol in his pocket. 

The powder and bullets were on the church 
steps, where all who wished to aid in the good 
work could help themselves ; and within half an 
hour from the time the ball opened, at least thirty 
happy and animated boys were loading and firing. 

The noise had attracted the townspeople, and 
several hundred of them stood looking on at the 
strange spectacle. 

Patsy Rafferty ran home to draw some money 
from his tea-pot bank, but found the cashier pres- 
ent, and hesitated. However, he soon plucked up 
courage, and said, with a roguish twinkle : 

" Mother, will you please lend me two dollars of 
my money ? " 

Ordinarily, Mrs. Rafferty would have said no. 




But she was a very bright woman, and was so 
pleased with this evidence that Patsy had inherited 
some of her own wit, that she could not find it in 
her heart to refuse him. 

" There 's two dollars, and I suppose when you 
bring it back it '11 be four," said she, remembering 
how money breeds money. 

" Yes — four o'clock," said Patsy, as he ran out of 


the door and made for his friend the pawnbroker's, 
who sold him an old musket, with which, in a few 
minutes, Patsy joined the volunteers. 

Ned Rogers had not been able to find any fire- 
arm ; but when he learned where Patsy got his 
musket, and that the pawnbroker had a mate to 
it, he ran off to his aunt's house at his best speed, 
and, entering unceremoniously, exclaimed : 

" Aunty, I want two dollars quicker than light- 
ning ! " 

"Edmund Burton ! how you frighten me," said 
his aunt Mercy. "Jane, get my pocket-book from 
the right-hand corner of my top bureau-drawer, 
and throw it down-stairs." 

The instant the pocket-book struck the floor, 
Ned snatched two dollars out of it and was off like 
a shot. 

" Sweet, benevolent boy ! " said Aunt Mercy. 
"I 've no doubt he 's hastening to relieve some 
peculiar and urgent case of distress among the poor 
and sorrowful." 

As it was rather late when Ned arrived at the 
church with his weapon, he thought he 'd make up 
for lost time. So he slipped in three bullets, instead 
of one, with his first load, and in his excitement 
rammed them so hard as almost to weld them 

The consequence was that, when he discharged 
it, a large sliver was torn from the spire, and at the 
same time he found himself rolling over into the 
gutter, — a very "peculiar and urgent case of dis- 
tress," indeed. 

When Deacon Graham saw how fast the ammu- 
nition was disappearing, while the desultory firing 
produced no effect upon the kite, he thought some 
better plan should be devised, and conceived of a 
way in which, as he believed, concerted action 
might accomplish the desired result. But when he 
tried to explain it to the crowd, everybody was ex- 
cited, and nobody paid the slightest attention to 

The spectators partook of the general excitement, 
and applauded the boys. 

" Epigrus via, generosissimi tormentarii! Peg 
away, most noble gunners ! " shouted Holman. 

The Deacon, who had been growing more and 
more excited, was now beside himself. In his 
desperation, he sat down upon the keg of powder, 
and declared that no more should be used till he 
was listened to. 

" I '11 tell you, Deacon," said one of the hunts- 
men, "a chain-shot would be the thing to break 
that string with." 

"You shall have it," said the Deacon, and off 
he posted down town again, to order chain-shot. 
But the article was not to be had, and when he 
returned, the kite still rode triumphant. 

The trustees held a meeting on the steps of the 
church. " Now don't get excited," said Mr. Sim- 
mons, the calmest of them ; " the first shower will 
bring down the kite. We 've only to go off about 
our business, and leave it to nature." 

" I don't know about that," said Monkey Roe, 
in a low tone, to one of the boys who had crowded 
around to learn what the trustees would do. "The 




back of that kite is pretty thoroughly greased. 
It '11 shed water like a duck, and nothing less than 
a hail-storm can bring it down." 

" How do you know that, young man ? " said 
Mr. Simmons, who overheard him. 

"Why," said Monkey, seeing that he had 
betrayed himself, "you see — the fact is — I — I — 
saw a little bird try to 'light on the kite, but he 
slipped off so quick I knew it must be greased." 

"Humph!" said Mr. Simmons. "That 's a 
likely story." 

" Brother Simmons," said Deacon Graham, " we 
can't wait for a storm, — there is no prospect of any. 
If we don't dispose of this thing pretty soon, I 'm 
afraid it '11 make us ridiculous. " 

Nobody was able to suggest any means of relief. 
Perhaps a sailor could have climbed the lightning- 
rod ; but there was no sailor in town, and half-way 
up the spire the rod was broken and a section was 
missing. There seemed to be no way short of 
building a scaffolding to the top of the steeple, 
which would cost a good deal of money. 

The pastor's son took Monkey Roe aside. "Your 
prophecy has been nobly fulfilled," said he, " and 
you 've given us a tremendous piece of fun. Get 
us up another as good as this." 

The result of the deliberations of the trustees 
was, that they resolved to offer a reward of twenty 
dollars to any one who would get the kite off from 
the steeple ; and this was formally proclaimed to 
the crowd by Deacon Graham. 

Hardly had the proclamation been made, when 
Phaeton Rogers, who had conceived a plan for get- 
ting down the kite, and had been preparing the 
necessary implements, appeared on the scene with 
his equipment. 

This consisted of a powerful hickory bow, about 
as tall as himself, two heavy arrows, and a ball of 
the best kite-string. 

After measuring with his eye the height of the 
steeple and the direction of the kite, Phaeton said 
he must mount to the roof of the church. 

" Certainly, young man," said Deacon Graham; 
" anything you want, and twenty dollars reward, 
if you '11 get that thing down. Here, sexton, show 
this young gentleman the way to the roof." 

Phaeton passed in at the door with the sexton, 
and soon rc-appeared on the roof. The crowd 
seemed to watch him with considerable interest. 

Standing on the ridge-pole, he strung his bow. 
Then he unwound a large part of the ball of 
string, and laid it out loosely on the roof; after 
which he tied the end of it to one of the arrows. 

A murmur of approbation ran through the crowd, 
as they thought they saw his plan. 

Pointing the arrow upward at a slight angle 
from the perpendicular, and drawing it to the head, 

he discharged it. The shaft ascended gracefully 
on one side of the string of the kite, and descended 
on the other side. 

At sight of this, the crowd burst into applause, 
supposing that the task was virtually accomplished. 
It would have been easy enough now to take hold 
of the two ends of the string that had been carried 
by the arrow, and, by simply pulling, bring down 
the kite. But this would not have taken off the 
hoop from the top of the spire, and it would have 
been necessary to break off the kite-string, leaving 
more or less of it attached to the hoop, to float on 
the breeze like a streamer till it rotted away. Pha- 
eton intended to make a cleaner job than that. 

When the arrow fell upon the ground, Ned, by 
his brother's direction, picked it up and held it just 
as it was. Phaeton threw down the ball of string 
still unwound, and then descended to the ground. 
He very quickly made a slip-knot on the end of the 
string, passed the ball through it, and then, by 
pulling carefully and steadily on the ball-end, made 
the slip-knot slide up till it reached the string of 
the kite. Before it was pulled up tight, he walked 
out on the square in a direction to pull the slip- 
knot as close as possible to the hoop. 

This done, he placed himself, with the string in 
his hand, on the spot where he supposed the one 
who got up the kite must have stood while putting 
the hoop over the point of the lightning-rod. That 
is to say, he walked from the church in such a 
direction, and to such a distance, that the string he 
held in his hand formed a continuous and (but for 
the sag) straight line with the string that held the 
kite to the hoop. 

He expected, on arriving at this point, to raise 
his hand, give a jerk or two at the string, and see 
the hoop slide up and off the rod, from the 
tendency — caused by the kite's pulling at one end 
of the string, and himself at the other — to take up 
the sag. 

His theory was perfect, but the plan did not 
work ; probably because the wind had died down a 
little, and the kite was flying lower than when it 
was first put up. 

When he saw that the hoop was not to be lifted 
by this means, he cast about for a further, expedi- 
ent, the crowd meanwhile expressing disappoint- 
ment and impatience. 

Carrying the string entirely across the square, he 
stopped in front of the house that was in line with it, 
and asked permission to ascend to the roof, which 
was granted. Breaking off the string, and telling 
Ned to stand there and hold the end, he put the ball 
into his pocket, took a pebble in his hand, and 
went up through the house and came out at the 

Tying the pebble to the end of the string, he 




threw it clown to his brother, who tied the end of 
the string to the end he had been holding. Phaeton 
then drew it up, and once more pulled at the hoop. 

It stuck a little at first ; but as he alternately 
pulled and slackened, it was started at last, and 
began to slide up the lightning-rod ; whereupon 
the crowd set up a shout, and a great many people 
remarked that they knew all the while the boy 
would succeed. 

But the hoop only rose to a point about half-way 
between its former resting-place and the tip of the 

held close against it either by the tugging of the 
kite one way, or your pulling the other." 

" 1 understand," said Ned. "I '11 do my best." 
Phaeton then went back to the church, and 
ascended to the roof again with his bow and arrow 
and the ball of string. Laying out the string as 
before, and tying the end to the arrow, he shot it 
over the kite-string so that the arrow fell upon the 

Making a slip-knot as before, he pulled upon the 
end of his string till the knot slid up to the kite- 


rod, and there it remained. No sleight-of-hand 
that Phaeton could exercise would make it rise 
another inch. If the wind had freshened, so as to 
make the kite sail higher, the hoop would have slid 
to the top of the rod at once. But the wind did 
not freshen, and there was no taller building any- 
where in line with the string than the one Phaeton 
was standing on. 

The crowd groaned, and remarked that they had 
been confident all the while the boy could n't do it. 

"Ned," said Phaeton, "come up here." 

Ned went up. 

" Now," said Phaeton, "stand right in this spot; 
hold the string just as you see me holding it now; 
and try to pull on it just hard enough to make the 
hoop hang loosely around the rod instead of being 

string at a point pretty near the hoop. He now 
broke off the string, leaving it just long enough to 
reach from the point where it was attached to the 
kite-string straight to where he stood on the roof. 

He tied the end to his arrow, and, drawing the 
shaft to the head, shot it straight upward. As the 
arrow left the bow, the crowd cheered again, for it 
was evident that when the arrow, in its course, 
should reach a point as far above the kite-string as 
Phaeton was below it, it would begin to pull the 
kite-string upward, and if it had force enough to 
go a yard or two higher, it must, of course, pull 
the hoop off from the rod. 

But it lacked force enough. It rose till it had 
almost straightened the string it was carrying, then 
turned its head and dropped to the roof again. 




The crowd groaned, and some of them left for 
their homes or their business, saying they knew all 
the while that such foolery would n't work. 

Phaeton sat down on the ridge-pole of the 
church, put his head between his hands, and 
thought. While he sat there, the crowd shouted 
all sorts of advice to him, most of which was 
intended to be sarcastic, though some spoke 
seriously enough, as those who suggested that he 
use a larger bow and a lighter string. 

After some moments he got up, went to the 
arrow, and detached it from the string; then, 
taking the end of the string between his palms, he 
rolled it and rolled it, until he had very greatly 
hardened the twist. 

If you have ever twisted a piece of common 
string up tight, and then, taking the two ends 
between your thumb and finger, let go of the 
middle, you know what it does. It doubles and 
twists itself together, in the effort to untwist. 

When Phaeton had tightened the twist of his 
string as much as he could, he tied the arrow on 
again, laid it across his bow, pointed it at the 
zenith, drew it to the head, and once more dis- 
charged it. 

While the arrow was climbing, the string — 
wherever the slack folds of it hung near enough to 
one another — was doubling and twisting together, 
thus greatly shortening itself. The arrow had not 
gone much more than half its former distance 
above the kite-string when it arrived at the end of 
its own now shortened string, and gave such a jerk 
as pulled the hoop clear up from the end of the 

When the crowd saw this, they burst into a tre- 
mendous cheer, threw their caps into the air, and 
bestowed all sorts of compliments upon Phaeton. 

Phaeton took off his hat and made a low bow to 
the people, and then disappeared through the little 
door in the tower, by which he had gained access 
to the roof. He soon re-appeared, emerging from 
the front door, and ran across the square, to the 
house where Ned still stood on the roof, like a 
statue, or Casabianca waiting for his next orders. 

" Haul her in," said Phaeton, and Ned immedi- 
ately began winding in the kite, using his left fore- 
arm as a reel, and passing the string around his 
elbow and through the notch between his thumb 
and forefinger. He wound on everything as he 
came to it — hoop, mottoes, even Phaeton's arrow. 

Phaeton stood in the street before the house, 
caught the kite by the tail as it approached the 
ground, and soon had it secure. He broke off the 
string, and Ned came down through the house. 

An immense crowd surrounded them, and 
impeded their progress as they started for home. 
" Jump into my carriage ; I'll take you home," 

said the driver of an open barouche, who had 
stopped to see the performance, and like everybody 
else was intensely interested in it. 

Phaeton was instantly seized in the arms of three 
or four men and lifted into the carriage. Then 
Ned was lifted in the same way and seated beside 
him. Then the kite was stood up on the front seat, 
leaning against the driver's back, with its astonish- 
ing motto staring the boys in the face. Lukey 
Finnerty, who had been proudly holding Ned's 
musket for him, handed it up, and it was placed 
aslant of the seat between the two boys. The 
bow, brought by the sexton, was placed beside it, 
and the carriage then moved off, while a large 
number of boys followed in its wake, three of them 
being suspended from the hind axle by their hands, 
while their feet were drawn up to swing clear of 
the ground. 

" Why is he carrying away that kite ? " said Dea- 
con Graham, asking the question in a general way, 
as if he expected the crowd to answer it in con- 
cert. ''That belongs to the church." 

" Sic nodus — not so," said Isaac Holman. "It 
belongs to him ; he made it. " 

"Ah, ha!" said the Deacon, looking as if he 
had found a clew. 

As the driver had recently procured his new and 
handsome barouche, and was anxious to exhibit it, 
he drove rather slowly and took a somewhat cir- 
cuitous route. All the way along, people were 
attracted to their windows. As the carriage was 
passing through West street, Phaeton colored a 
little when he saw three ladies standing on an upper 
balcony, and lifted his hat with some trepidation 
when the youngest of them bowed. The next 
moment she threw a bouquet, which landed in the 
carriage and was picked up and appropriated by 

"I am inclined to think," said Phaeton, "that 
the bouquet was intended for me." 

" Was it? " said Ned. "Then take it, of course. 
1 could buy me one just like it for a quarter, if I 
cared for flowers. But, by the way, Fay, what are 
you going to do with the twenty dollars you 've 
won? That 's considerable money." 

" I am going to put it to the best possible use 
for money," said Phaeton. 

" I did n't know there was any one use better 
than all others," said Ned. " What is it ? " 

" To pay a debt," said Phaeton. 

" I never should have guessed that," said Ned; 
" and I don't believe many people think so." 

As they rode by Jack's Box, Jack, who stood in 
the door, learned for the first time what Monkey 
Roe had wanted the Scripture motto for. 

They also passed Aunt Mercy's house, and their 
aunt and Miss Pinkham were on the piazza. Ned 



7 6 3 

stood up in the carriage and swung his hat. Phae- 
ton saluted his aunt more quietly. 

" What in the world arc those boys doing in that 
barouche ? " said Aunt Mercy. 

" I don't know, but I '11 go and find out," said 
Miss Pinkham, and she ran to the gate and got the 
story from one of the Dublin boys. 

Miss Pinkham returned and told the story. 

" Edmund Burton always was a smart boy," said 
Aunt Mercy. "I could have predicted he would 
be the one to get that kite off. He 'd find a way 
to scrape the spots off the sun, if they wanted him 
to. But I don't see why that stupid brother of his 
should be stuck up there to share his glory." 

When it came to the question of paying the 
reward, Deacon Graham stoutly opposed the pay- 
ment on the ground that Phaeton himself had been 
concerned in putting the kite on the steeple — or, at 
least, had furnished the kite. He said "no boy 
could fool him, — it was too long since he was a boy 
himself," — which seemed to me a strange reason. 

It looked for a while as if Phaeton would not get 
the money ; but the other trustees investigated the 
matter, rejected the Deacon's theory, and paid the 

On their complaint, Monkey Roe was brought 
before 'Squire Moore, the Police Justice, to answer 
for his roguery. The court-room was full, about 
half the spectators being boys. 

" What is your name ?" said the Justice. 

" I 'm not sure that I know," said Monkey. 

" Not know your own name ? How 's that ? " 

" Because, my mother calls me Monty, my father 
calls me James, and the boys call me Monkey 

"I suppose the boys are more numerous than 
your parents?" said the Justice. 

" Much more," said Monkey. 

" And you probably answer more readily when 
they call ? " 

"I 'm afraid I do." 

"Then," said the Justice, "we'll consider the 
weight of evidence to be in favor of the name 
Monkey Roe, and I '11 enter it thus on the record." 

As he wrote it down, he murmured: "We 've 
often had Richard Roe arraigned in this court, but 
never Monkey." 

" Now, Monkey, I 'm going to ask a question, 
which you need not answer unless you choose to. 
Did you, on Saturday night last, between the 
hours of sunset and sunrise, raise, fly, and elevate 
one six-cornered paper kite, bearing a motto or 
sentiment from the sacred book called Leviticus, 

and tie, fix, anchor, attach, or fasten the same to 
the lightning-rod that surmounts the spire, or 
steeple, of the First Church, of the sect or denomi- 
nation known as Baptist, fronting and abutting on 
Independence Square, in th